#living for pleasure but also doing your duty for the colony

[an-aura-about-you]

I'm not a furry but I believe their beliefs.

[strange-ness-is-me]

New academic essay just dropped!!

Freedom is not eternal.

Freedom, unlike most perceptions of it, is a state of being. A temporary condition that is achieved through unshackling oneself from something, or someone detrimental to one’s existence. The only way to achieve freedom is to acknowledge that something isn’t good for you, it is hard to do, especially if that situation blinds you with pleasure, it is an addiction. However that isn't the entirety of how to achieve this state of freedom, sometimes the harm can be external coming from an outside source, but sometimes it can be something that you put on yourself. The harmful circumstance controls your life, restricting you from attaining what you need, such as food, self-determination, and economic freedom, among other things. Life will always send things to obstruct your freedom, it is up to you to claim it back.

Mary Wollstonecraft was a brilliant lady, she was the mother to Mary Shelley.  Not only did she mother one of the most revered authors of history, but she also was an activist for women's rights. For her and a lot of women their freedoms were being restricted by the patriarchy, a government ruled primarily by cishet white men. Wollstonecraft found this to be detrimental to her freedom and so she fought back against the patriarchy as much she could. Unfortunately, women especially those of higher class weren't allowed to fight physically, so Wollstonecraft decided to write letters to the legislature. She wrote letters to persuade the entirely male legislature to at least include women in the votes and to have a voice when making decisions about laws. Wollstonecraft says in the letter A Vindication of the Rights of Woman “But, if women are to be excluded, without having a voice, from a participation of the natural rights of mankind, prove first, to ward off the charge of Injustice and inconsistency, that they want reason, -- else this flaw in your new constitution, the first constitution founded on reason, will ever shew that man must, in some shape, act like a tyrant, and tyranny, in whatever part of society it rears its raised in front, will ever undermine morality.” (Wollstonecraft). This quote shows that without the input of women, that reason isn't entirely reason.  Wollstonecraft is trying to make an argument that the oppressors, in this case, men, should take women's advice in the government because having someone else make decisions for you is taking away your freedoms. 

Thomas Jefferson one of the American founding fathers was the one who wrote the Declaration of Independence of the United States,  this is another prime example of the harmful outside situation. Britain's Parliament and King George III had colonies in what is now the United States of America, it held a tyrannical rule over the colonies, taxed the people unfairly, and made living there not preferred. After years of this tyrannical rule, the United States Congress had Thomas Jefferson write up the Declaration of Independence of the United States and sent it to the British Parliament.  this started a war between the British and the Americans, but because the Americans had an army of mostly trained soldiers, they were able to fight in that war and eventually won. Thomas Jefferson wrote in the Declaration of Independence of the United States that it is the duty of the people to alter the government or abolish it if it becomes detrimental to the quality of life of the citizens (Jefferson). This encourages the citizens to go forth and claim their own freedoms when something wants to take it away. A quote from the text is “But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future.” (Jefferson). Because freedom is temporary, one must put up walls to protect their freedoms and secure their future from any impending threats.

While Pirates have already broken free from their detrimental situations, they still have to Make sure that they can keep their freedoms by having basic structures and rules kept in place. unlike most other rules where there are a lot of them, the Pirates put bass rules and only rules that will ensure the crew's safety. Since pirates are free of their restrictions they have to protect themselves but making sure that they won't get caught by the oppressors, in this case, the government. On ships, it was common to find that there was a lights-out policy of 8:00 p.m. since the British, Spanish, Polish, etc. ships could find them in the sea if they had lights on that late and they didn't want to be found. There are also a bunch of rules to keep fighting on the crew to a minimum such as no cheating or stealing and no gambling since those could raise tensions. there is also oddly a rule where there were generally no women alone on the ship, this was usually due to a superstition that women were bad luck on ships. All of these rules are to ensure safety and to make sure that no one gets locked back up into their detrimental situation again, if one person gets caught then that could lead to many people getting caught. Even though Pirates can be brutal they still look out for other people in the way that it also benefits themselves, or so it seems. (Johnson and Roberts) They also made sure that everyone was able to get a say in the decisions due to a council with everybody on the crew on it usually they would make decisions about punishments for crew members who betrayed the wider crew.

Peril the SkyWing from the book series Wings of Fire is an excellent example of internal shaking, for most of her life she obeyed the rule of her queen, Queen Scarlet, since Queen Scarlet raised her since she hatched basically. Peril has this condition called fire scales, she hatched with too much fire so her scales emit a burning heat that could kill anyone she brushes by. Queen Scarlet raised Peril to believe that she would always be a monster and that she could never change from being a murderous dragon, so Queen Scarlett used Peril in her Gladiator Arena as her champion. That is how she lived for the majority of her life until she met a dragon named Clay. Clay is a MudWing who also happens to be a Dragonet of Destiny, the Dragonets of Destiny are a part of a prophecy to end a 20-year-long war. Clay and his friends were captured by Queen Scarlet and taken to her prisons where he was held. Peril started talking to Clay and it revealed that Queen Scarlet never liked it when PerilTalked to any other Dragon except for her. Queen Scarlet is the harmful person in this situation, she restricted Peril's access to food, she restricted Peril's access to self-determination, and Queen Scarlet didn't even let Peril leave the SkyWing palace. Clay talked to Peril as Peril snuck out of the initial Palace to talk to him, and because Clay also grew up with him believing he was a monster he was able to sympathize with Peril. One huge difference between Peril and Clay is that Peril never believed she could be anything but a murderous dragon, however, Clay never was able to bring himself to actually harm anyone. the only reason Clay was labeled as a monster was that when hatching he tried to help the other dragons he was hatching with break out of the shells and the caregivers didn't know that that was an instinctual thing for MudWings, especially the first hatched MudWings experienced. After learning that Peril was being lied to by Queen Scarlet her entire life, she started to change for the better, she started to escape the grip that Queen Scarlet had over her (Sutherland 81). Peril directly confronts Queen Scarlet in the book Escaping Peril, she says “You can't make me. you can't make me kill anyone else for you. I'm not that kind of dragon anymore"(Sutherland 22). That quote demonstrates how Peril is starting to take more control over her life, she is making an effort to change from the Dragon that Queen Scarlet wants her to be.

All of these sources allude to the firm belief that freedom is not something that you can just have, it is something that you have to work for, to believe that you deserve. Without acknowledgment of yourself or the detrimental situation, you cannot begin to fathom breaking away from the chains. There are however small steps to be able to make those connections, if you as much wonder if a specific person or situation isn't good for you take a moment, step back, and think about it. thinking is probably one of the best things you can do when faced with a situation like that. letting people take away your freedom is one of the most vile things I can think of. fighting for your freedom no matter how big or small the act is, will be worth it in the end regardless, because you made that decision for yourself. 

Works Cited

Jefferson, Thomas. Declaration of Independence of the United States. 1776.

Johnson, Charles, and Bartholomew Roberts. A General History of the Pyrates. 1724.

Sutherland, Tui T. Escaping Peril. Scholastic Incorporated, 2017.

Wollstonecraft, Mary. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. 1792.

[honorhearted]

Unable to help it, Benjamin chuckled. "I can assure you, sir, my own best friend is of the 'vivid' and 'loud' sort, so you needn't shield me nor my sensibilities..." He grinned. "Of course, every now and then it would be appreciated."

Initially, Benjamin feared he'd made a fatal error in calling Emma dutiful in following the rules -- she was certainly capable, he knew, but quite free-spirited -- yet the banter that followed thawed any such apprehension and he smiled, looking away. "Perhaps I should amend that to say she graciously considers all rules," he quipped. "Your daughter will give her opinion, if she believes we're in the wrong -- something that's welcomed, of course -- but she's also a team player. What's best for the colonies is by what she ultimately abides."

All at once, relief speared through Benjamin upon receiving David's clear approval. As a boy, he'd certainly held infatuations for a few girls in town, and had even spoken to their fathers -- everyone knew everyone in Setauket -- yet this was the first time he'd attempted to win over a stranger, and he straightened with pleasure while agreeing, "I'd be honored, sir. Thank you. And I, too, agree that distraction from the horrors of this world is key, if only to ensure proper morale...and hope." His smile softened. "I daresay many of us forgot hope until your daughter came into our lives."

Mary Margaret appraised him with interest, and Benjamin failed to notice the knowing glint to her eyes. Her talk of earning Emma's favor made him flush, and glancing between them in mounting surprise, he gave a startled laugh.

"Oh, I don't know," he deflected. "I appreciate the gesture, but truly, you're both too kind. I'm just...I-I'm trying to make this experience better for everyone. Most of these men are quite young -- boys, in fact, and I don't want them forgetting their childhoods." He shrugged, his features sobering. "I traded in my youth for a musket, and I lost the boy I once was. So if I can keep them young and happy for just a moment longer, I'd like to think I did my part."

"He has been teaching children, ma. Before the war, at least, so that's something you two share," Emma chimed in.

Sheepish, Benjamin agreed, "I suppose my earlier passions hinted at it, if nothing else...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to become so enthused. Children are...th-they are important to me. Aside from books, I can think of no greater love in my heart." Briefly, his eyes skimmed over toward Emma, though when he held her gaze for perhaps a bit too long, he ducked his eyes and smiled, idly fiddling with the saber on his belt. "What age do you teach, Your Highness? Ah..." He faltered, almost appearing embarrassed. "I'm sorry, what should I call you both? I'm afraid Emma never specified."

"Grace is a..." David hesitated, "Loyal... particular friend of Emma who has a... very vivid, loud spirit." He gave Ben a look that silently encouraged Ben to read between the lines. Emma silently laughed at what was clearly a desperate attempt not to call Grace a scoundrel, and then couldn't help but think that she hoped both Ben and her parents would realize soon that Ben was basically one of the family, and that her parents were quite uncaring about most of what was considered moral and acceptable, and that all three could truly speak freely in front of one another, like old friends did. After all, there wasn't much that Ben hadn't already witnessed from her, and she wanted her parents to know he was very important.

"You follow the rules?" - "You did what?" both her parents asked incredulously and Emma brought a hand to her chest to feign scandalized innocence. "When have I ever misbehaved at home? I have been good every single day." Mary Margaret put down the dress, "... you follow the rules?" she repeated in the same tone. "I happen not to be in charge nor responsible for anyone, the least I can do is to listen to others, so that I don't ruin the balance nor challenge the person who is, in fact, responsible for all. And I am always well-behaved. Daddy!" she turned to him, waiting for confirm. "Well, of course, you are wonderful," David loyally agreed. "David," Mary Margaret sighed, while Emma snickered again, "Be strong."

David was so pleased by what Benjamin said that he already gave him an approving pat on the back, smiling warmly, "Count me in for the duration of our visit, then, I can't think of a better way to spend time at a camp than to discuss books, and I mean every word of it: I know what awaits outside, and that makes all the more important to cling to more human activities here. We should discuss Pamela as well..."

"As for our daughter following the rules, Major," Mary Margaret added thoughtfully after a moment, "I assume it's your doing, even if books had nothing to do with keeping her entertained. Emma has always been generous with her admiration for you in her letters, I'm sure that if she was so strangely careful it was so she wouldn't make your life harder. Some people manage to be so honorable that they are worthy of her efforts, you are probably one of them." "Oh, he is," Emma said without thinking, falling straight into her mother's trap while going to look for her bottle of gin, "He's worth all of the efforts, I'd never want the General to think less of him because I decided to be childish instead." Mary Margaret shot Ben an interested look, smiling knowingly, "Yes, that makes more sense. Let's have that drink here, Major, shall we? Let's talk about books and... everything else you like that you may want to share." Her not so believably innocent expression matching the one her daughter so often sported, as she walked to the small table in the tent, and David surpassed her only to pull the chair for her and Emma. "He has been teaching children, ma. Before the war, at least, so that's something you two share." "Is that so? Not many men I know would be patient enough for that, David excluded, of course."

[acrossthewavesoftime]

What was Simcoe's personality like?

What an interesting question, anonymous gentleperson!

Before I'll reply to your question, I would like to add that while having read as much as I could about him (and whenever possible, by him), my interpretation of his character through the material I encountered is purely subjective, though based on contemporary documents and later research and I warmly invite you to develop and share, if you feel comfortable doing so, your own.

To me, one of John Graves Simcoe's defining personality traits was his sense of unwavering loyalty towards those nearest and dearest to him. Since a great deal has been said about them, I won't focus on his incredibly loving, close relationship with his wife, and indeed focus on two less obvious people who also had a distinct impact on his life.

His near boundless loyalty shows in a letter dated September 1780 in which Simcoe, fearing for the life of his friend John André in American captivity, expresses to a person (presumably a fellow officer) whose name is only given as "Crosbie" that he is ready and willing to risk his life to rescue his close friend André- for André's sake, but also because he can't bear to know Clinton is worried about André:

I have often risked my life, but never as with so much pleasure, in a case where attachment to my General, private Friendship & public duty, all call upon in the most feelg. manner-

Another telling example can be found in his self-published Journal, in which he stresses

His intimate connection with that most upright and zealous officer the late Admiral Graves, who commanded at Boston in the year 1775, and some services which he was pleased to entrust him with, brought him acquainted with many of the American loyalists: from them he soon learned the practicability of raising troops in the country whenever it should be opened to the King's forces; and the propriety of such a measure appeared to be self-evident.

Samuel Graves had died in the spring of 1787, evidently before Simcoe had his Journal published later the same year, as the prefix "late" indicates. If you've been on my blog before, you're likely to have encountered Samuel Graves, commander of the North American Station between June 1774 and January 1776. Admiral Graves, held partially responsible for the events leading up to the eventual loss of the Thirteen Colonies, was retired in some measure of disgrace in all but name, and also due to being regarded as a rather difficult, irate and rude person (and, a little too Irish perhaps as well) not exactly a society favourite.

This makes Simcoe's declaration even more curious to me: he claims that the skills and contacts he would later put to good use as commander of the Queen's Rangers and shaping them into the efficient unit they were, he initially obtained running some unspecified errands for his godfather (young Simcoe, a Navy spy in the Army- now that'd be an American Revolutionary War-themed TV show I want to see! No more warm eggs!) while they were both stationed in Boston in 1775.

He doesn't mention any more or less well-known fellow army officers as mentors; the man who helped make Lieutenant-Colonel John Graves Simcoe and the Queen's Rangers, one of the most efficient British units of the war, was the late Admiral Graves. There was no social gain for Simcoe to expect by mentioning his godfather (half-present anywhere already he signed his full name), which convinces me he must have done it purely out of a personal motivation to right the wrongs he thought had been done to his godfather by recalling him. The two had enjoyed a close bond since Simcoe's earliest childhood to the point the mere weeks old Simcoe was swiftly dubbed "Infant Graves" by his extremely excited godfather, who continued to help his godson out whenever possible- sometimes providing him with money, a place to live, or his abilities as a wingman. For Simcoe to mention him in his Journal speaks of his love for the man who had stepped up when his father had died that exceeded his (at times rather pronounced) desire for honours, styles and titles.

Another trait worth mentioning is that he was rather fun-loving and energetic; I've previously made posts about his Trafalgar Day and Christmas celebrations. To some extent, I believe his love of entertainment and enjoying himself in the company of friends (he was no stranger to Exeter's pubs as well) was partially rooted in knowing that he was severely asthmatic, which at the time was a far greater health risk than it is today with the available modern treatments; he knew that it was highly probable his condition might one day cause severe or fatal complications (and it did); so he made the most of the life he had.

Simcoe was very conscious of people less fortunate than he as well, and tried to be a person who'd make a change for the better where he was able to, as is evidenced by his attempt at abolishing slavery in Upper Canada (which ended in a limitation of slavery due to the veto of Upper Canadian officials, with the result that the act that was eventually passed did not benefit persons that were enslaved at the time), but also in the things he did a little closer to home: not only did Simcoe-money help improve local roads, Lieutenant-General Simcoe was known for being a good employer, tipped generously and liked to help wherever he could: one time, he helped a local family get free treatment at Exeter hospital for their sick child. Another time, a man visited Wolford begging for money to buy himself a donkey since his only donkey had died recently; Simcoe talked with him, asked how much the donkey had been worth, and, telling the man he needed not walk any further, paid him the thirty shillings for a new donkey no questions asked.

Many of these stories were preserved by John Bailey, who was a servant in the Simcoe-household for most of his life, knew "the General" as a boy and later became a sort-of inofficial companion to his widowed wife, Elizabeth Posthuma Simcoe, whom he idolised, in addition to the work he was actually being paid for. In 1802, Bailey witnessed Simcoe, apparently fallen victim to the stereotype of aging men being greatly interested in watching construction work and commenting on it, chatting up one of the workmen who were doing whatever work he had commissioned at the time (perhaps something to do with Wolford Chapel?). Conscious of the social chasm setting them apart, the workman deferentially took off his hat. Simcoe told him to leave his hat on, but the workman insisted on doing the polite thing, and holding his hat in his hand. Seeing as the man could not be moved to put his hat back on, Simcoe told him that he'd just take his off, then- and so, two men supposedly continued to have a long conversation, bare-headed.

Now, on the less rosy parts of his personality: I would say Simcoe was often blunt and direct in ways that easily irritated others (a dubious quality he may have picked up from his godfather) and frequently blinded by a very extreme notion of personal honour that once caused a fight with his wife as he tried to tell her not to visit a play put on by young officers at Québec because theatrics apparently weren't officer-like (...said the man who was close friends with John André) and almost saw him getting into a duel-by-fistfight with the owner of a neighbouring estate. The duel only never happened because Simcoe, ready to throw fists, wanted the man to challenge him more formally.

For all the genuine health-concerns he had, his wife also made a rather dry remark in her diary once indicating he sometimes tended to hypochondria, presumably to garner attention and sympathy:

He is now recovered, and has a pain in his foot, which perhaps would more effectually relieve his head if it were more violent.

So, there you have it. I hope this is what you've been looking for, and thank you again for the question!

[suburbanbeatnik]

Françoise de Bernardy’s Alexandre Walewski: The Polish son of Napoleon- the first chapter

If I went to the (long and tedious) effort of translating the first chapter of  Françoise Bernardy’s 1976 biography of Alexandre Walewski, I figure you guys should see it too. Enjoy!

* * *

MARCH 1810. Paris is moved by the preliminaries of Napoleon's marriage with Marie-Louise. In a few days, the archduke Charles has to marry in Vienna, in the name of the French Caesar, his yesterday's victor, the daughter of the German Caesars.


At 2 rue du Houssaye, in the then aristocratic district of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, a small hotel of elegant appearance. On March 10, at the end of the afternoon, the Emperor brought a cradle decorated with silver laurel. The room where the imperial gift is deposited is hung with light blue. On the wall is a beautiful portrait of a woman by Gerard: blonde, with beautiful eyes and a fine, gentle face. The mirror of the fireplace reflects the charming features. Near the Boucaut armchairs, a Martin varnished chiffonier, behind, half-folded, a large screen of Coromandel lacquer.

A heroic fighter in the last wars of Polish independence, Mathieu Laczynski, staroste of Gostyn, died young and desperate, leaving a widow and six children who can barely live off the mortgaged land of Kiernozia.

The years pass, aggravating the ruin. The four sons are valiant but weak, spendthrift, covered with debts, whether they work on the land or fight in the Polish legions in the service of France. Only one hope, a rich marriage for the oldest daughter, Marie, born in 1786, who is beautiful and good.

An almost septuagenarian but very noble neighbor, Count Anastasius Walewski, offers this rich marriage when Marie has just turned seventeen. At first, the young girl rejects the idea of a union with an old man, twice widowed, whose son Stanislaus is already a made man. But Mme. Laczynska urges her daughter. She knows that he has a warm heart and a devoted soul. Count Walewski is generous. If Mary sacrifices herself, he will secure the future of her brothers and sister. How to resist seventeen years? At the beginning of 1804 Marie became countess Walewska. In June 1805 she had a son, Antoine, a fragile, weak, viable child, who was taken over by the count's sister, Hedwige, an abusive spinster. She leaves behind a distraught young woman with a sad heart and empty arms. Only the sense of duty and a deep passion, which lifts her out of herself, the love of the country, sustain her. Marie lives on the hopes that the victories of the imperial France over Austria, Prussia, and Russia, the powers that once shared Poland.

This patriotism and these hopes brought Marie Walewska to meet Napoleon in Blonie on the road to Warsaw on December 31, 1806. In the weeks that followed, this patriotism and these hopes persuaded the young woman to become the mistress of the French emperor, first forced, then willing, then in love. In the spring of 1807, she lived with him in Finckenstein, where the warrior spent some quiet hours preparing for the Friedland campaign.

Unofficially separated from her old husband, Marie Walewska came to Paris at the beginning of 1808. She remained there until the Emperor's departure for Bayonne. If the fever of the senses has subsided between them, if the lovers are often and for a long time separated, nevertheless Napoleon remains attentive and Marie attached. And then there is always Poland, whose destiny once more seems to be played out during the campaign of 1809. In May, Marie writes to Napoleon, reminds him of his promises, offers to join him in Austria, and on May 18, from Schoenbrunn, which he is about to leave for his headquarters in Ebersdorf, the Emperor replies to the young woman.

"Marie, I have received your letter. I read it with the pleasure that your memory always inspires me. The feelings that you keep for me, I carry them with me.

"Come to Vienna, I wish to see you and give you new proofs of the tender friendship I have for you. You cannot doubt the value I place on everything that concerns you. A thousand tender kisses on your beautiful hands and one on your beautiful mouth. "

A month later, back at Schoenbrunn, on June 20, fifteen days before the battle of Wagram, the Emperor sent Marie an affectionate letter.

"Dear Marie, your letters have pleased me as always. I do not approve of your having followed the [Polish] army in Cracow, but I cannot blame you.

"The affairs of Poland are restored, and I understand the anxieties you have had ... I acted, it was better than to lavish consolation on you. You don't have to thank me, I love your country and I appreciate the merits of many of your people.

"It takes more than the capture of Vienna to bring the end of the campaign. When I have finished, I will move to be closer to you, my sweet friend, because I am anxious to see you again. If it is at Schoenbrunn, we will enjoy together the charm of its beautiful gardens and we will forget all these bad days.

"Have patience and keep faith. "N"

After Wagram, Countess Walewska moved to Moedling, a few miles from Vienna, and throughout the summer of 1809, while peace was being discussed, the Emperor came almost every day to spend the evening, the night - with Marie.

Slow, sweet weeks which, if they seem to consecrate the liaison by the expectation of a child, however, by precipitating the divorce, also prepare the rupture. Indeed, Marie wishes to return to France with the Emperor, but Napoleon, now assured that he can procreate, determined to separate from Josephine, does not want to. The presence of the young woman in Paris would disturb him as he prepares his second marriage. He asked the Countess to return to Poland and on October 13 - the Emperor left Vienna the next day - Marie took the road to Warsaw.

On December 18 - the divorce was pronounced on the 15th - from Trianon where he went to his departure from the Tuileries, Napoleon writes to the countess Walewska. How the tone has changed since the letters of May and June, and how the young woman must have suffered. It is no longer a lover, but the sovereign who speaks, only the concern for the child still shines through. "Madam, I received your letter. All that it contains touched me much. I was pleased to see that you arrived in Warsaw without any unpleasant accident. Take care of your health, which is very precious to me, and put away dark thoughts, the future should not worry you. Teach me that you are happy and content, that is my greatest desire."

Unconsciousness of men. It is almost in the same terms that the Emperor tries to console Josephine...

Happy? Happy? Marie is not happy while she is waiting for Napoleon's child so far away from him, while Caulaincourt seems to be about to sacrifice the Polish hopes in Saint-Petersburg... In 1807, prince Poniatowski asked countess Walewska not to reject the sovereign on whom the fate of Poland depends. In 1810, he probably asked Marie to come to Paris to defend the cause of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw and she agreed. Thus, she was in Paris at the beginning of 1810.

Marie Walewska looked sadly at the cradle. It is true that Napoleon welcomed her and spoke tenderly of the child she was carrying - a son, he had no doubt. But the young woman's heart is heavy. The Emperor had come the day before to bid her farewell. He would not see her again until she had given birth. What will Marie do? Stay in Paris? Retire to the country? To Warsaw? But can she return without the count's permission?

All of a sudden hurried footsteps, a panting courier. "A letter from Poland!"

The count's handwriting...

"Walewice, 21 February 1810

"Dear and honored wife,

"Walewice is more and more a burden to me, my age and state of health forbidding me any activity. I have come there for the last time, in order to sign the deed by which my eldest son acquires it.

"I advise you to come to an agreement with him about the formalities to be completed at the birth of the child you are expecting. They will be simplified if it is in Walewice that this Walewski is born.

"This is also his opinion, and that I write to you. I do so, conscious of fulfilling my duty, praying to God that he may have you in his care.

"Anastase Colonna Walewski".

Marie weeps with relief, with gratitude. Without wasting a minute, she claims her chaise de poste.

Poland is still under a blanket of snow when the Walewska princess arrives in Walewice. The young woman was pleased to see the long white house again, with its two wings covered by terraces and the triangular pedimented porch. This "colonial style" is surprising in the Polish plain: it is a memory of the veterans of the American War of Independence.

April soon brings its first greens, the buds burst in the woods. Marie Walewska takes long solitary walks. Her term is near. What will be the future of this child in whom Slavic and Latin blood are mixed? If it is a son, will he be a soldier, a diplomat? If it is a daughter, will she have fewer difficulties than her mother? What Marie wishes for her child is happiness...

On May 4, Countess Walewska gave birth to a son. At the end of his life Alexandre Walewski will write:

"My birth was accompanied by lightning and thunder, and it was predicted that my life would be stormy and even life-changing.

"To satisfy an old family prejudice, I was held at the font by two beggars, which was supposed to bring me luck... "

Three days pass, then on May 7 the priest of Walewice, acting as civil registrar, registers in the commune of Bielow that "Mgr Anastase de Walewski, staroste of Wareck, residing in Walewice, age of 73 years ", presented him "a child of the male sex, born in his palace on May 4 of the present year at four o'clock, by clarifying to us that he was born from his marriage with the lady Marie, nee de Laczynska, his wife . ... and that he intended to give her the following three names: Alexandre-Florian-Joseph. In view of this declaration, we have proceeded to the redaction of the birth certificate of the said child, in the presence of Mgr Stanislas de Walewski aged 30 years ... and of Mr. Joseph Ciekerski,doctor of medicine and surgeon deliverer ... which birth certificate was signed by us as well as by the above-mentioned and the required witnesses after reading made. "

Anastase Walewski thus fulfills all his duty towards a woman whose honesty and uprightness he appreciates. To this child who is nothing to him, he assures a name, a legitimate filiation, a heritage. This is a striking proof of the affection and esteem he has for Marie. Stanislaus Walewski is fully associated with this testimony by his presence in front of the priest of Walewice.

On his side the Emperor did not forget Marie.

On April 16 (1) he wrote to her: 

"Madam, I receive with great pleasure your news, but the dark ideas that I see that you nourish do not suit you well. I do not want you to have any. Teach me soon that you have a beautiful boy, that your health is good and that you are cheerful. Never doubt the pleasure I will have in seeing you and the tender interest I take in what concerns you. Farewell Marie, I await with confidence your news."

(1) When it was published, this letter was dated February 16. This date hardly seems acceptable. First of all, it is clearly a reply to a distant person whom the Emperor will have "pleasure in seeing". Above all, Napoleon knew that the child was due at the beginning of May and he could not hope that he would be born "soon" - prematurely. Date of April, when the young woman withdrew to Walewice, this text takes on its full meaning.

Leaving a few days later for Belgium and Holland with Marie-Louise, he is informed by quick couriers and, as soon as he knows the birth of Alexandre, he sends for the child Brussels lace and twenty thousand gold francs, for the mother, a very special tribute if we think of Napoleon's admiration for the poet, the works of Corneille, printed in Rouen in 1648, in a beautiful binding by Trantz. Does the Emperor want to signify to Marie that she has the high and tender soul of a Chimene, that he remembers her faithful and generous love?

Napoleon called the young woman back to France on September 3. After thanking her for the news brought by her brother, Theodore Laczynski, he adds in effect: "If your health is well recovered, I desire that you come on the end of autumn to Paris where I desire very much to see you... "

An amicable agreement is then definitively reached between Marie and the count Walewski. The latter gives her a large part of his fortune and entrusts her with the custody of their son Antoine. In Paris Marie Walewska moves back to rue du Houssaye. The months pass. Marie lives far from the court, does not meet Napoleon who, all occupied with Marie-Louise, seems to be interested in the young woman and her son. Finally, in February 1811, the Emperor came to see little Alexandre. It is a beautiful blond child, but whose dark complexion recalls that of the Bonapartes. He has the round head of the Latins, the high and wide forehead of his father, his eyebrow, his mouth and his chin, but the eye does not have the deep blue of the Corsican, reflection of the Mediterranean, it does not have either the sparkle which had always to brighten in the imperial pupil, the brown eye of Alexandre is pleasant and merry. A second visit follows the first one, then it is the rupture, without clashes, without discussion, like a fruit that has reached maturity.

Napoleon, however, is very concerned about the material well-being of Countess Walewska, to whom Duroc brings ten thousand francs every month. Especially the future of his son. On the eve of leaving Paris for Russia, on May 5, 1812, he made the young woman come to the Tuileries and gave her a patent which instituted in favor of Alexandre a majorat of one hundred and seventy thousand pounds of income, with the title of count. The majorat is established on goods situated in the kingdom of Naples.

One evening in January 1813, Alexandre was awakened with a start. Dressed in a hurry, he was taken to his mother.

"Two elderly men were with him, one of whom took me on his lap and kissed me. His physiognomy made a deep impression on me; it was certainly the first memory of his life."

The Emperor's solicitude for his Polish son did not waver. In the middle of the dark hours of the French campaign, fearing that Murat would confiscate the first endowment, he charged his treasurer general, M. de La Bouillerie, to establish a new majorat of fifty thousand pounds of rent on the canals for the young Walewski; he also had a hotel at 48, rue de la Vicioire, bought in the name of Alexandre for 137,500 francs, of which Marie was the usufructuary (1).

Come the great reverses. In the defeated Emperor, abandoned by his former companions, Marie Walewska sees only the man who has loved her, whom she has loved. She runs to Fontainebleau and is announced. Napoleon, absorbed, does not see her again immediately, and then does not think about her anymore. Weary of body and soul, he looks for oblivion and rest in poison, but does not find it.

All night long, in an anteroom, Marie waits for him to call her. In the morning, she finally goes away, discreet, fearing to be unwelcome. The Emperor learns a few hours later of her apparent negligence. "The poor woman," he murmured, "will think she has been forgotten," and on April 16 he was anxious to reassure her. "Marie, I have received your letter of the 15th, the feelings that you have expressed touch me deeply. They are worthy of your beautiful soul and the goodness of your heart. When you have arranged your affairs, if you want to go to the waters of Lucca or Pisa, I will see you with great and lively interest, as well as your son for whom my feelings are invariable. Be well, think of me with pleasure and never doubt me.”

(1) On February 4, from Nogent, he writes in his own hand to La Bouillerie: "I have received your letter relative to young Walewski. I leave you carte blanche. Do what is convenient but do it immediately. What interests me is above all the child, the mother afterwards."     A judgment of the court of the Seine, of April 4, 1818, will authorize the tutor of the "minor" Walewski it to sell the hotel of the rue de la Victoire and it to replace the funds produced by this sale in the purchase of Walewice of which Stanislas Walewski wants to get rid.

In August 1814 Marie Walewska travels to Italy with her son, her sister Emilie and her brother Theodore. The Emperor encouraged her again on August 9: 

"Marie, I have received your letter, I have spoken to your brother. Go to Naples to arrange your affairs. On my way there or on my way back, I will see you with the interest you have always inspired in me, and the little one of whom I hear so much good news that I am truly happy and will be happy to embrace him. Farewell, Madame, a hundred tender things.”

On September 1 Marie arrived on the island of Elba with her son, Emilie and Theodore. Immediately a rumor spread among the population and the small garrison: Marie-Louise and the King of Rome had just arrived. The good people are mistaken. The Viennese woman of light soul and weak flesh is in Aix, already all in Neipperg.

Is Napoleon going to retain Marie who has come to offer him her life? Certainly he is moved to find her always so faithful and so generous. But the Emperor thinks first of the Empress, first of the King of Rome, and he fears that Marie-Louise, warned of the coming of the Polish girl, will take the pretext not to join him. Surprisingly, does he not guess that the choice is already made?

In any case, he receives Marie Walewska in a half-mystery, at the hermitage of the Madonna.

Leaving the countess the three rooms of the little house, Napoleon settles for the night in a tent under the chestnut trees. When he came out in the morning, he found Alexandre playing. He called him, sat down on a chair, took the child in his lap, then sent for Foureau de Beauregard, the doctor who had followed him to Elba, and the latter wrote to Alexandre Walewski on June 22, 1843: "You are that pretty little Alexandre that I saw, almost twenty-nine years ago, on the Emperor's lap near the Madonna delle Grazie on the island of Elba.”

“The Emperor wanted the child, who had no youngster with him, to be there," says Marchand. The Emperor placed Mme. Walewska's son next to him, he was very good at first, but it didn't last long and, as his mother reproached him, the Emperor said to him: "So you are not afraid of the whip? Well! I urge you to fear it; I have only received it once and I have always remembered it." Napoleon then tells how one day when he had mocked his grandmother's clumsy walk, Madame Mere had firmly corrected him. "The child had listened with the greatest attention, the Emperor said to him: 'Well, what do you say to that?’— ‘But I don't make fun of Mama,' he said with a little air of contrition which pleased the Emperor, who kissed him and said: 'That's well answered.’"

Rare picture of Napoleon with his Polish son.

That same evening, September 2, Marie Walewska took the road to Naples again in small steps. The endowment of Alexandre, confiscated on September 15 with all the other French endowments of the kingdom of Naples, is restored on November 30. Perhaps on the intervention of Caroline, who always liked Marie Walewska? Perhaps Murat had some shame to add a meanness to his betrayals? In any case the Emperor was satisfied and he told the King of Naples on February 17, 1815, adding: "I recommend her to you and especially her son who is very dear to me. "She came to Paris in the spring of 1838 and was ‘touched by the assiduous care’ that Walewski gave her during her stay. Caroline Murat wrote to him on November 23: "I am sending you the letter from the Emperor that I had promised you; you will see in it the proofs of the affection that he had for you... "

The countess Walewska lingers in Naples. Alexandre will keep a vague but pleasant memory of this stay, of the toys that he received there. At the beginning of 1815 the mother and the child embarked for France. Caught by a corsair, they escaped him in great difficulty.

Marie learned of the death of the count in Walewice on January 18, 1815. Now that she is free, what will she do with her life? To marry General d'Ornano, who has been courting her for a long time and for whom she has a deep inclination? Perhaps... She has hardly had time to decide when on March 1, 1815 Napoleon lands in Golfe-Juan.

It is the prestigious return, the intoxicating reception of Paris, the feverish days of work. Before the departure for the plains of Flanders where the imperial eagle will fall, Marie, always faithful heart, goes to the Elysee with her son. Alexandre found the visitor from the rue du Houssaye at the palace. He wears, as on the island of Elba, a blue uniform with a white lapel. "He told my mother that he was going to leave for a campaign. He asks me if I want to go with him. My mother refused. ‘Well madam, I will take him by force.’” These words still ring in my ears. "

Waterloo, the second abdication, the halt at Malmaison. Marie once again comes to the Emperor. So many bonds united them, gratitude for the resurrected Poland, and then love, and then the child. Without a doubt, she is ready to accompany him in this exile from which Napoleon's immense weariness, after a life so full and so ardent, awaits rest. But he does not accept, happiness is no longer for him, he enters the legend.

Despite the clear light of this beautiful summer day, everything is sad and gloomy on this June 26 and Malmaison is a kingdom of shadows: shadow of Josephine, unfaithful and charming, shadow of Duroc and Bessieres, shadow of the madman Junot, shadow of the absent ones too, Eugene, Murat, the companions of glory and youth, shadow of Talleyrand and Fouche who betrayed him, shadow above all of this young consul who took France in his arms and with a sincere effort straightened it.

Marie and the Emperor speak at length. Alexandre, serious and silent, listens to them without understanding. The countess is crying softly, she would like to retain Napoleon, to persuade him not to abandon himself to destiny. It is a vain effort, the Emperor does not hear her, nor does he hear Hortense. Marie finally decides to leave and Napoleon leans over to the child and gives him a long kiss. Later the man made, the wall man who became ambassador, then minister of the resurrected empire, will remember that he thought he saw a tear running down the cheek of the defeated of Waterloo.

Three more days the slow agony continues, three more days Marie returns to Malmaison and on June 29 she will be among the last faithful who, on the threshold of the house, will see the Emperor sinking with a firm step into the park, crossing the small gate, will hear the door of the heavy car slamming while the bells of the church of Rueil ring...

* * *

A long year... Europe catches its breath, gets used to the absence of the man who for fifteen years has dominated it and who disappeared at the bottom of the Atlantic.

On September 7, 1816 Marie Walewska married Ornano, who had been exiled by the Restoration, in St. Gudula in Brussels. Antoine and Alexandre Walewski stayed in Paris. Under the guidance of M. Carite, a friend on whom the countess entrusted the education of her children, and of an old valet, Andre, the two little ones join the Ornanos at the waters of Chaudfontaine near Liege. The new household moved soon after to Liege itself, in a charming house on rue Mandeville, today rue de la Fragnee. On June 9, 1817, a son, Rodolphe, was born. After his release from exile, Ornano returned to Paris with his wife in October 1817, but Marie died soon after, on December 11.

In her will Madame d'Ornano entrusted the guardianship of her Polish sons to her brother Theodore Laczynski, who was in Paris at the time. "He will have to report frequently to my dear husband on the state of Alexandre's health, to take his advice when this child will be of school age. Place him in a school where his father-in-law will be able to go and visit him sometimes and supervise his education... "

Laczynski takes the two orphans to Kiernozia in Poland. Alexandre likes this quiet and patriarchal life. Memories of the imperial era haunt the house. In the evening, Antoine and Alexandre linger in the living room. Theodore Laczvnski takes the lead in the conversation, he talks about the French Revolution, Paris, the imperial campaigns, especially about the Emperor. As Duroc's aide-de-camp, the Pole often approached Napoleon. The children, with bright eyes, listen "with indefinable interest". Laczynski's dream is to go to Saint Helena, to take his wards there...

After a few happy months in the country, Theodore Laczynski decides to settle in Warsaw and gives the children whose education cannot be neglected any longer a tutor. A strange choice. The times decidedly wanted it. While Queen Hortense entrusted Louis-Napoleon to the son of the conventionnel Le Bas, the young Walewskis, in their snows, were given to a certain Muller, a "philosopher teacher" as he called himself, of a very advanced republicanism. Laczynski quickly separates from the astonishing character and, in order to restore the balance, his pupils spend half a year in a Jesuit college in Warsaw, where Alexandre makes his first communion. Then they left for Geneva in 1820.

Napoleon's son stayed there for four years. After a happy, pampered life with the gentle and tender woman who was his mother, the child had two more easy years. Now here he is, thrown alone - his brother Antoine is leaving him soon (1) - in a new, even hostile environment, in a foreign city whose Protestant austerity must have clashed with the Catholic heredity of this Pole with Latin roots. And yet, as he himself wrote, it was from this period that his spiritual life began. The city of Calvin suits this calm, somewhat soft temperament. No flashes of anger or outbursts. Order, measure, a certain fundamental rigidity. In Geneva, one day in the summer of 1821, the child of Wagram, the one who prayed for the Emperor because he was his father, learns of the death of the captive of Saint Helena.

(1)Recalled probably by the tsar. Antoine Walewski died young, without children from his marriage to Constance Grotowska.

No trace in the memories of the imprisoned man of what he thought, felt... Did he ever know, except by the cold instructions to the executors of his will, that Napoleon, although absorbed by the concern for his imperial son, nevertheless thought of his Polish son, recommended him to Bertrand, expressed the wish that he enter a regiment of lancers, and above all that he become a Frenchman. "He is really of my blood, and that is also something."

Alexandre Walewski is a boarder at the Academy's rector's house, which receives about twenty young people. His lavish lifestyle, the apartment, the governor, the servant, attracted jealousy and bullying. In spite of his young age, Alexandre decides to avoid a situation which, if it goes on too long, will become painful. He gets the governor recalled, keeps the servant but puts him at the service of the community. He has easy money - his hands will always be wide open -, he lends to his comrades and shows himself to be generous. He is a serious, authoritarian boy, aware of his importance. The traits of his character, which we will find again during his life, are already marked: he is honest, upright, but he is neither cheerful nor fanciful. He evokes his life in Geneva as follows: "I was at twelve very tall for my age, and I considered myself a young man; so much so that I was already going a little into the world, to balls, to little parties... I stayed in Geneva for four years. I left Geneva on an order from the emperor of Russia."

* * * 

On his return to Poland in 1824, Alexandre Walewski was emancipated by his tutor. He settled in Walewice, where he led a stately life. Princess Jablonowska, a sexagenarian cousin who had once been the friend and confidante of Maria Walewska, helped him to entertain. The house of the young man, of this so young man, is soon to be very sought after.

Precocious from a worldly point of view, Alexandre Walewski is also precocious with women. The Latin blood is hot, the Slavic blood as well. Judging by what he wrote in the first draft of his memoirs, shortly after his arrival in Walewice, Alexandre had an affair. He had an affair with a "vulgar girl" that left him feeling disgusted and that would keep him away from such promiscuity in the future. The numerous women who will mark out his life will be from now on women of talent or: women of quality.

On December 22, 1825, Alexandre sends to the General d'Ornano his wishes for the new year. This letter, green, charming, which confirms the impression of maturity of a boy who is not sixteen years old, also reveals the affectionate feelings that he feels for his stepfather.

“It is nearly three months since I wrote to you and many things have happened since I took possession of my land in Walewice. First of all, the castle was repaired, which was in great need of it, and then my good cousin wanted the whole region to hear, with loud trumpeting, that I had become its lord. More than a hundred people did us the honor of attending the magnificent ball that she gave. It was very cold outside, but fortunately there was no snow that night. I was celebrated and saw people from the past whom I pretended to recognize and who were charmed by it. The dowagers even kissed me, but not the young girls, which would have pleased me more. I made up for it by dancing with several of them.

"I must confess also that I fell several times into the sin of pride. I don't know who said anything about my academic successes, but I have been in the hot seat and have been made to take part in political, diplomatic, literary, and I don't know what else conversations. How many compliments have I heard about my intelligence, my reason, the power of my arguments, etc., etc., etc.? And then I noticed that the girls preferred me to many other dancers. As the lessons given to me were profitable, I remembered that it was especially necessary to court ladies of canonical age and they brought back to me very flattering appreciations on my modest person, expressed by exquisite mouths...

"General Zayonczek is one of my most frequent visitors... He rambles a little, but this does not affect his memory. He remembers very well all that happened in Warsaw when the Emperor came there before the battle of Eylau... He is very popular with the great Duke and even with the Czar's court. Some people criticize him, but I think it is good that we have our great men in favor. It can only be useful for us...

"We will reopen the Warsaw hotel in a few days. Ah! if we could see you there!

"Your tender and respectful Alexandre. "

Son of the patriot Marie Walewska, son of the Emperor, Alexandre attracts Polish hopes. He would gladly be taken as a standard bearer. Grand Duke Constantine, the skillful and often benevolent governor of the kingdom, wanted to neutralize him. He offers him to join the Russian army, to become his aide-de-camp. The young man "stubbornly" refused. He was put under police surveillance and told to leave the country. Tsar Alexandre had once recommended that Napoleon's Polish son should never be allowed to go to France: his brother remembered this.

Alexandre decides to escape. With a passport obtained at a high price, he goes to St. Petersburg and hides there, waiting for a favorable opportunity to gain more free land. He learns that the police are looking for him to bring him back to Warsaw where his fate will be decided. Four hundred leagues on foot, a probable prison do not tempt the Pole. He had to escape at all costs. He reached Kronstadt and boarded a steamer bound for England. The police have found his trail, and they launch an armed barge in pursuit of him, ordering him to stop: inadvertently or unwillingly, the captain does not obey the summons and, thanks to his superior speed, makes it to the open sea.

* * * 

In London, Walewski received an enthusiastic welcome from the elegant society, the opposition. The Whigs, that is, the Liberals, have always regretted the treatment of the Emperor, and Lord Holland has protested in the House of Lords against the conditions of captivity. With Napoleon gone, the regrets became remorse...

In spite of the attentions of which he is the object, the young man does not linger in England. He will return there with pleasure and in 1828 he will spend several months: summer, autumn, making a long stay in Chatworth at the Duke of Devonshire, the most prominent of the great Whig lords. But it is in Paris that Walewski intends to settle down. He arrived there in the autumn of 1827. He found his father-in-law, with him Flahaut, Sebastiani, Gerard, veterans of the time. The salons of the Faubourg Saint Honore, of liberal tendency, receive him with great pleasure. He is charming at his entrance in the Parisian world, this young Walewski. Slim, slender, elegant, he has beautiful dark eyes and a dreamy smile. His slight accent adds to his charm when he courts a woman, and he waltzes divinely - like a Slav.

And then, isn't he called the natural son of Man? The Marechal de Castellane notes on November 1, 1827: "At Mme de Flahaut's, I saw for the first time a young M. Walewski, son of Mme Walewska and of the Emperor Napoleon. He has the eyes, the sound of his father's voice, he is taller than him and very well turned out (1)."

(1) Many years later Walewski pronounced the eulogy of the count of Rayneval. An old general of the Empire suddenly begins to cry. "I attended the farewell that the Emperor made to his guard at Fontainebleau and I just heard the sound of his voice.”

What is more surprising, the faubourg Saint-Germain, stronghold of the ultras, is infatuated with Walewski who becomes the darling of the "ultra-duchesses" according to Lady Morgan. Haussonville on his side confirms it to us. "The debuts of Count Walewski took place, singularly enough, under the auspices of what is most exclusive and purest in the aristocratic society of Paris. It was as if it were a watchword among the most sought-after ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain to give the most benevolent welcome to the young man whose features were strikingly reminiscent, but with a pleasant and gentle physiognomy, of those of a famous mask. The first of these was the one who was to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be of a man who was not a man of the world. He let the most haughtiest women, those who were about to consider themselves the prettiest or the wittiest, put themselves to the expense for him, either of brilliant toilet or of beautiful spirit, each one according to the means of seduction which suited her best. Thus, every evening in the fashionable salons, there was a real race to the bell tower between a learned marquise... who affected to speak to each ambassador the language of her country and a beautiful duchess [it seems to be the duchess de Guiche] who was then in Paris the type of the sovereign elegance. Between these ladies the bets were open and the chances seemed doubtful, Walewski taking care to share equally between them his discreet attentions...”

A cloud rises however on the horizon. Pozzo di Borgo, the Russian ambassador, a Corsican who had been in the service of the tsar, pursued with a Corsican hatred all that was Bonaparte. He asks for the extradition of Walewski, this "rebel, fugitive from the Russian Empire". By order of Charles X, who doesn't like Pozzo, Villele, on the eve of leaving the ministry, refuses it. Walewski could stay in France on condition that he avoided official circles and made himself forgotten.

Life is very pleasant in these last years of the Restoration. Lady Blessington has left us a pleasant picture of the society of the time. The manners are ceremonious and the young people surround the old women with delicate attentions, whether it is a flattering silence when the beautiful ones of the past are remembered or a lively eagerness to render them small services: handkerchief, bouquet or fan picked up, shawl placed on cold shoulders. France is the paradise of old women, especially if they are witty, England is the purgatory, says the Englishwoman without ambiguity. The amorous intrigues are discreet, hidden from the public, and those whose affair is best known affect the most reserved manners. Hypocrisy perhaps, but the Parisian world takes on an air of dignity and decency.

Once a week, the women of quality open their salons to a circle of intimates who meet like-minded people every evening in a friendly house. Small closed coteries, where strangers are not admitted. For them, balls, dinners and parties in full dress. For the regulars, the amiable negligence of the half-clothes and the free, unceremonial chat. “Yesterday I went to a small party at Madame de Jumilhac's [a sister of the Duke of Richelieu] where Walewski served as my introducer," said the Pole Andre Kosmian on November 7, 1829. “Without being rich, she received three times a week the flower of the Parisian world. Her small salon is only open to ten or twelve people at a time. It is very difficult to be admitted. I owed this favor to Walewski who is the gate child of these ladies."

Walewski likes this refined society as much as he likes it. He is linked with the due de Chartres. They are tall, one dark, the other blond, they look alike and for three winters they never leave each other. Walewski also met Thiers at Madame de Flahaut's house: their friendship will never be denied. He finally met Morny, the son of Flahaut and Queen Hortense. "They are both of distinguished and graceful manners, without support, gifted with an air as it should be which is in them as a native gift... "

Lady Blessington, a very good judge, noted in 1829: "The more I see Count Walewski, the more I like him. He has the spirit, intuition and perfect manners. I have always considered it a good sign for a young man to like the society of old people and Count Walewski marks the preference for men of age to be his father."

When the count d'Orsay and the due de Guiche create in 1828 the circle of the Union, Walewski joins one of the first. He found there many Englishmen, Lord Granville, the English ambassador who had married a sister of the Duke of Devonshire and whose son was to be a minister in 1852. Caradoc, the future opponent of Walewski in La Plata, Normanby. He also met Talleyrand... There is a lot of talk about horses, it is a passion of the time and also a fashion. The races begin to be very popular at the Champ-de-Mars and at the Bois de Boulogne. Walewski goes there with assiduity. He runs and plays...

“In the meantime, I attended horse races for the first time in my life," Kosmian said in November 1829. Unfortunately, they ended in a way that was unpleasant for Walewski, because Walewski was always doing crazy things, throwing money out of the window. In England and here in Paris, he lost at cards up to a hundred thousand francs. Having stopped on the slope, he no longer plays cards, but, which amounts to the same thing, he plays at the races. There is a very rich Englishman here, Lord Seymour [Milord l'Arsouille], who lives only for horses and for whom betting on races is a passion. He is the one who is constantly pestering poor Walewski. Last Saturday, they had only two, each on his own horse. Walewski rode an English racehorse; Seymour a hunting horse; but Walewski had to carry sixty pounds more! Everyone who knew anything about racing said in advance that Walewski was making a fool of himself and that he would lose. He wouldn't listen to anyone - and lost. The stake was five thousand francs. He has seventy-five thousand pounds of income; what a comfortable and pleasant life he could lead. Perfectly well seen in the world, universally loved... But one has to tell him the truth... he doesn't want to hear anything until now. It is a great pity because what a good and noble nature it is and of how much pleasure in society ... "

The year 1829 had been cheerful, the beginning of the year 1830 is not less. On February 9 a great masked ball was organized by Mrs. Alexandre de Girardin in the concert hall of the rue Taitbout. Mme. Alfred de Noailles intrigues during one hour Rodolphe Apponyi, the king of the cotillion leaders; on the other hand, he recognizes at first sight the princess of Lieven and both of them go in the box of Walewski so that they intrigue their turn.

Alexandre is twenty years old on May 4, 1830. He is a man. Will he continue to waste his life in frivolity, thinking only of the world, of women, of races, of gambling? Does he forget the hopes cherished by his mother, does he remember that his father wanted him to be a soldier? Will he, who is free, get bogged down in the pleasures of Paris like the Duke of Reichstadt, he who is a prisoner, in the soft life of Austria? Will the sons of Napoleon be only dandies?

Walewski was a calm observer of the Three Glorious Years, and the return of the tricolor flag, which his father had flown in Vienna, Berlin and Moscow, did not arouse any echo in him. Polish by mother, Polish by heart, Polish by nationality if not by language (1), only the tocsin of Warsaw is going to move him, to awaken him suddenly.

(1) Walewski was not fluent in Polish. Joseph Tanski tells that when he came to London in 1854 to talk to the ambassador about projects he did not wish to see revealed, he offered to speak Polish to Walewski, the valet being present in the room. The latter refused, admitting that he could not sustain the conversation.

[licuadora-nasir]

“But then, life is in the journey. If you cannot have an easy journey, have an interesting story.”

Today I've decided to come and talk about The Last Hour of Gann, an incredible book written by R. Lee Smith author of Beautiful Dead and The Lords of Arcadia saga.

When her good-for-nothing mother dies, Amber decides to take her sister and join a colonization project jumping on the first Earth’s first colony-ship. Turns out the ship ends up crashing on an unknown planet in which lives Meoraq, the male lead.

But... Meoraq is a lizardman. Yeah, a lizardman with scales, snout and everything, "The Sword of Sheul" is a status in the lizardmen's high society. After the death of his father, this holy warrior will start his pilgrimage which will lead him to the human survivors.

And well, shit happens, buuuut I'm not gonna walk into details, instead, I'm gonna tell you what you should expect.

The character development and building are by far some of the best I've ever had the pleasure to read.

Meoraq swung around and raked his eyes over the whole of them. “Who dares order me to silence?” “I do,” said Amber. “Shut up.”

Amber is a hot-tempered woman with an indomitable spirit and a pottymouth that pushes her way through a misogynist society and tries to do the better thing in her own way.

Also, she's fat. Why am I pinpointing this? Cause I haven't seen many erotic/romance books which has a fat protagonist and also, because she's a clear reflection of what society, in general, think about strong women.

Amber is not precisely a charming one. She's impulsive, intelligent, brave, and the most coherent character in the whole book; the problem is that she's not the prettiest one in the coop, neither pleasant nor stupid and definitely not willing to keep up with the bullshit of the jerks that surround her. A competent woman who has to fight for the recognition she deserves.

“It is a wife’s duty and pleasure to lessen her husband’s burdens.”

“Says who, lizardman?”

“Prophet Lashraq, as written in Sheul’s true Word.”

“You mean a man wrote it.”

She's a survivor, cause even though she has no friends or people who support her, just a greedy, petty sister who's totally useless, she will be as stubborn as her sharp tongue allows her to drive the human survivors towards the best path.

Even though she's hated, despised and abused by that group of humans, she will never stop trying to make herself heard. And before such fierce conviction, you'll end up rooting for her and feeling as yours every failure she experiences.

Life kicks her ass constantly, but what I deeply love about her is that she tries. She tries so, so hard that you can't help but wish her success.

“Jesus Christ, really? How did you ever survive living with me as long as you did without having sex every other hour?”

“With God’s aid alone,” he said seriously. “It was a terrible time.”

Meoraq is a lizardman. Yes, I don't care, he's awesome, brave and mainly and you will love him. He starts this pilgrimage of his to find himself and find the woman Sheul (the lizardmen's god) is going to give him.

His society is patriarchal and narrow-minded, the only place for women is in submission to religion and men and Amber will be an inflexive point in which Meoraq will have to question his own beliefs and traditions.

Due to his holy warrior occupation, he's deeply influenced by religion, and the way the writer intertwines love, religion, change and betrayal of the old ways is just exquisite.

“You can make a story mean anything Meoraq. But that's the thing with you religious people, isn't it? God is this glorious intangibility, so no proof becomes proof just by how you spin it.”

The beautiful parallels between these two characters are that while Amber is fighting a battle against the world, Meoraq is fighting a battle against himself. He's constantly defying his beliefs, his traditions and everything he once thought to be true. And that's a very difficult thing to deal with when faith in God is in between.

“It's one slice of shit-cake after another with me, isn't it? Why did you marry me?" "God gave you to me." "Did you keep the receipt?"

The romance is a slow burn. I could talk to you about the smut, the fact that Meoraq likes it rough or that Amber sucks dicks amazingly, but this is not really the point. There's NSFW stuff, but this book is not erotica.

This book it's Amber's story, Meoraq's story and Amber&Meoraq's story. They are individuals with different issues to deal with, who cross path with each other. Neither of them gives up to their own life to focus on the other's problems and I think that this is a very important thing, cause I've seen many times in romantic books how they turn the love into abandonment of their own lives.

I must say that this book is not for everyone. The TW are: non-con, graphic violence descriptions, sexual harrasment, slavery, kidnapping and psycological abuse.

Although if you're into this kind of stuff, controversial topics and dark literature, this might be your book. I can assure that The Last Hour of Gann is one of my favourite books, and I almost cried when I finished the last chapter and I saw that that's were it was finishing.

TLHG is a love story, a war anecdote and a survival's trip.

[halzore]

Cody + 16??

Snippets of Time

Characters: Cody x Reader

Note: Thankyou nonny for this request, I was having a little bit of trouble of how to encapsulate the kinda vibe i wanted to go for, not sure if it landed. But i decided to do a few snippets of a little friendship with our lovely commander and a reader throughout the Clone Wars. Let me know what you think! I love when people do that! Also, fair warning, kinda gets a bit sad, but thats chill.

Prompt 16: “That you will be by my side to see me through” ~ You and I, Jacob Collier

A little bit about this song: This is some classic Jacob Collier arranging, very spooky, also uplifting and got them good jazz chords. Listen to it here

Tags: @a-lil-perspective @thegoodbatch @leias-left-hair-bun

Introductions

Cody had met Obi-wan proceeding the battle of Geonosis, easily getting along, Obi-wan’s cool quick wit complimenting Cody’s serious but loyal nature. Obi-wan and Cody got along well, but the Marshall Commander had a softer spot for his own Jedi Commander.

He remembered the time that Obi-wan had brought you with him for the first time, a strong senior Padawan, who had already lost one master, but still seemed jovial and effervescent. He watched with skepticism as you gazed at the vastness of the the hangar bay of the Negotiator, looking around as if you had never been outside the temple. Obi-wan was quick and cool, but you seemed different, somewhat of a mystery to the Clone.

In the beginning, Cody stayed out of your way. After all what would a Jedi want with the likes of him. Plus he had a quarter of an army to run, but your paths crossed every now and then, each time more of the mystery of your character unfogging.

The light of the holo-table cast a blue hue over your stern features. Cody could see the stern lines deepen as the council outlined the battle strategy. Cody did not much like it, the plan was too risky, but he let it go. This was not his time to speak. Master Mundi finished speaking, opening the up the floor for questions. There was a slight pause as the heads, both real and holographic panned around the room. You took the slightest step forward.

“This plan, while it would achieve our goal is irresponsible” You voice was matter-of-fact, leaving no room for doubt.

“Is that so?” Master Windu turned to you, dissatisfaction clear. “And why would that be?”

“Too many lives lost, lives we have a duty to protect.” You put it simply

“But the civilians would be saf—“

“Clone lives” you clarified.

The silence spreading throughout the briefing room was deafening. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and pinched his nose, the council members looked at each other in irritation, their nonchalance being called out. Cody smiled inwardly. A Jedi commander who would go to bat for his boys. Maybe you were something he could get behind.

Medical Mischief

He was beaten, he was bruised. Yet he limped with resolve to the one place he could hurt in comfort: His quarters. One foot in front of the other, the commander’s attempt to look uninjured was laughable. He heard giggling from behind him and the Marshall Commander turned back to see you, hand over mouth, trying to cover you snickering. Cody groaned.

“What’re you laughing at?”

You tried to regain your composure. “You.”

“No shit.” Cody was not impressed, bothered at the interuption to his escape plans.

“You see the boys had mentioned something,” You began to stroll over casually, mischief in your eye. “You know, I didn’t believe them when they told me, I always thought you were such a good example for your men.” You had Cody’s undivided attention now, “They said you hated the medbay, never go when you’re supposed to. And I thought to myself, ‘Hmmm not on my watch.’”

Cody hadn’t noticed that you had slipped an arm around his and had began to shepherd him in the direction of his favourite place on the ship.

“Hey, stop! Let go!” He tried to wriggle out of your grip, but you ploughed on, resolute in your gait, easily overcoming the poor limping man.

“No can do Commander, you have an image to uphold.”

Interlude

Time went on, the war continued to wage in the furthest corners of the galaxy and you and Cody found your rhythm. You became an inseparable team on and off the battlefield. Both leading from the front, you managed to get the 501st through some of the most risky of assaults.

You balanced each other out.

You learnt a lot from Cody over the years. How to punch a droid sucessfully, how to patch up a bruise after you had punched a droid. He showed you how to be a good leader and helped you grow in your confidence as a Commander. But you, in turn, showed him things.

He always made sure that you were okay after a campaign, and so you developed a little ritual. You taught Cody how to meditate. You would bring him into your quarters and practice your deep breathing together, centring yourself in the moment. It became a staple in both of your routines and it was the way you both aired out your grievances and let them go to the universe.

You grew close, everyone could see it.

You were like family to Cody, and maker help the galaxy if anything ever happened to you.

Knighting

He wasn’t allowed to go to the ceremony. It was for Jedi only. You had been so nervous leading up to your trials. He knew you could do it, and he was not surprised in the slightest when you came bounding into his quarters, barreling him over in a bear hug, screaming that you’d passed.

But he couldn’t go to the ceremony.

He sat staring at his boring grey walls, wondering what was going on. Was Obi-Wan there? What were you thinking about right now? What things happened in a Jedi Knighting ceremony? His contemplation on these questions was half-baked at best, his mind wandering to the future.

The war was at a critical point, the senate’s order for new clones was ready, Cody knew they needed more Jedi Generals, and none came with better credentials than you. You would be a credit to any battalion, they would be lucky troopers. But they were not Cody’s troopers.

He didn’t hear his door open.

“Cody?” Your face cast in shadow as you were outlined by the glow of the ship light. You voiced pulled Cody from his questionings.

“Hmm?” He looked up. “Ah, how did it go?”

“Good,” You walked into his room and sat down next to him on his bed. “I have something to say to you.”

“I know.”

“I’m gonna miss you.” The emotion cracking the edges of your voice. Cody  wrapped an arm around you. “You’ll never be too far away.” Cody managed to give you a bit of a half-smile. You sat there together taking in each other’s presence for what you knew would be for the last time for a long time.

“I have something for you.” You broke the silence by reaching back around to grab at something. It was a small wooden box. You shoved it at the Marshall Commander and he opened it.

“Your padawan braid?” Cody looked at you, a mixture of confusion and awe.

“Something to remember me by, you’ll always have a little piece of me with you no matter how many light years apart we are.”

Cody smiled, and pulled you into a hug.

Aftermath.

You couldn’t remember the name of the planet you were on when you felt it. It was like all the energy in your body being forcibly pushed out of you. Your ears rang with the screams and it was almost as if the ground began to lilt under you feet.

Something was wrong, but you didn’t know what.

You hadn’t clued to the first signs, comms going unanswered, whispers around the native colonies. It was when you saw the Holonet report of the Jedi betraying the Republic when you knew you were in trouble.

At first it wasn’t so bad, you kept a low profile and no one really bothered you, you looked like any other traveller passing through. But then the troopers started to show up, but not in the armour you were used to. Similar enough to go unnoticed by most people, but strange enough to send your survival instincts into overdrive.

But it wasn’t safe.

Especially on the day you saw your picture, a smiling Jedi Knight, plastered on the wall of an unassuming business, labelling you as a traitor and offering a reward.

That’s when you began your new life, with a new appearance, a new name, never staying in one place for more than a few weeks. It was tiring, but it was what needed to be done.

….

You had been watching the holo waves weeks now. Imperial propaganda rife. Disgust had made its home in the back of your throat as you looked upon the force fed narratives on the web. But everyday you checked it religiously, looking for information about what happened at the end of the clone wars, why you were being hunted down.

Talk of a legendary clone wars commander coming to your planet to recruit piqued you interest.

It was dangerous, if it was the man you thought it would be, if the empire found out you were there. But you had to go.

You kept your distance from him. But you knew, without a doubt it was him, his scar, his gait. But the warmth was gone from his eyes. You tailed him, following him away from the carnival and back to his room before you confronted him.

“Cody.”

His shoulders stiffened. He slowly turned around to see who was in the door.

“CC-2224 now” His voice was proper, like when he gave an order. You brow furrowed in confusion, you didn’t quite know what has happening.

“Cody, what’s happening?” You were desperate and confused, in front of the one person who could help you make send of the mess. You moved to hug him around the middle as you dissolved into tears.

You didn’t register it in time.

The hard barrel of Cody’s pistol pressing into you side. You felt the heat of the blaster bolt and looked up at your Best friend, your brother, with pathetically wide eyes.

“I’m sorry Y/N, but good soldiers follow orders.” There was no remorse in his voice, almost the slightest hint of pleasure.

It was the last thing you heard, before your vision frayed, the pounding in your ears became too much and your world faded to black.

[letsmellowjello]

Long Time No See

Part 1, Part 2

Pairings: Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: abandonment

Summary: You thought you would never see Poe again until he shows up on Kijimi years after he left.

Notes: I tried to find stuff out about Poe before he joined the Resistance and about how old he was when he left Kijimi, but I couldn’t find exactly what I wanted so I just made everything up. I also did the same thing with some of the pre existing dialogue since I don’t have the movie right in front of me.

Masterlist ~ Prompt/Request

It had been a long time since you had seen Poe Dameron. Twelve years to be exact. When Poe left he was eighteen and your were seven. He had been like a big brother to you when you were both spice runners on Kijimi. When he left you were absolutely devastated.

~ Twelve Years Earlier ~

The cold wind stung your tear stained face as it whipped through the streets and across the rooftops of Kijimi. You sat on the roof with silent tears rolling down your cheeks. Why did he have to go? Why did he have to leave you here all alone?

“Y/n?” A voice spoke from the side of the roof.

“Go away! I don’t want to talk to you!” You huffed angrily and shuffled around so that you back was facing the newcomer. But your tone didn’t put him off. Poe carefully moved across the roof to sit next to you.

“Y/n... I-” He started.

“Why are you leaving?” You cut him off and turned to face him abruptly with tears in your eyes. “Why are you just abandoning us? Abandoning me?”

“You know why, I have to go join the New Republic. I don’t want to live the life of a spice runner anymore.”

“But- but you said, you said you would never leave me! Y- you said that you’d always be here for me!” You hiccuped as new tears rolled down you cheeks. Poe looked down guiltily.

“I know y/n... and I’m sorry. If I could bring you with me I would, but the transport only has room for one and the New Republic isn’t taking seven year olds. Please y/n, forgive me. It kills me to leave you behind. I would give anything to not have to leave you. But you won’t be alone, you’ll have Zorii and the other spice runners to look after you.” He pulled you close to him and you couldn’t help but be absorbed in his arms. You knew that he had to leave. As much as you wanted him to stay, you knew he wasn’t happy here and it was his time to move on.

“I’m really going to miss you Poe. Make sure to come back and visit some day.” You sniffled.

“You got it Ladybug,” he smiled at the affectionate nick name and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “I’ll miss you too.”

You knew why he had left and you weren’t mad at him for it. Of course you were absolutely heart broken, but you were happy that he had the chance to reach his full potential. After he left, Zorii Bliss took you in and basically became your older sister figure. She had also gotten you a suit similar to her own just green and silver, your favorite colours. She was tough on you but in an encouraging, ‘I want a better life for you’ sort of way. She was the one that pushed you to work with Babu Frik as a droidsmith.

~ Present ~

“I know a droidsmith who can do it, but he’s on Kijimi,” Poe told Finn and Rey with a groan after deciding that they would have to break C3PO open to get him to translate the Sith text that was on the dagger about where to find the wayfinder to Exegol.

“Why? What’s on Kijimi?” Finn asked suspiciously.

“I had a little bad luck on Kijimi, and there’s just some people there who might not be too happy with seeing me.” Poe ran a hand down his face in frustration, he knew they would have to go back to his old home whether he liked it or not, everything depended on getting the translation and Babu Frik was the only person Poe knew who would be able to do it properly.

~

The air was thick with the smell of oil and dust in Babu Frik’s workshop. You had been working for him and learning the droidsmith trade for ten years now and were getting really good at it. 

All of your work for the day was finished so you just sat on a stool tinkering around with a random droid part when the door opened. You heard Zorii’s voice talking to someone as she came in.

“Hey Zorii-” You looked up to greet her but your throat dried up when you saw who was with her. There were three people and one droid all wearing coats, but you only cared about one. The droid part in your hand clattered to the ground as you stared. “Poe?” Your hopeful voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” He asked with polite confusion. It hurt you that he didn’t remember, but then you reminded yourself that the last time he saw you you were seven and he also couldn’t see your face.

“Are you serious, Poe? You don’t remember her?” Zorii scoffed. You didn’t wait for him to answer, you ripped off your helmet and let it fall to the ground. As soon as he saw your face, he recognized you right away. You ran towards him and he caught you in his arms.

“Ladybug!” Poe exclaimed and swung you around.

“Ladybug?” Finn whispered to Rey who shrugged as they watched this peculiar reunion with nothing but confusion.

“Oh Maker, y/n! I can’t believe it’s you! You’ve grown up so much. Let me take a look at you.” Poe held you at arms length and scanned over your face to see the person that you had become. “You’re not... Are you still angry with me?”

“I’ll have to admit, I am a little bit hurt that you never came back to visit. But I understand why you couldn’t. The Resistance is too important.” You shrugged and visibly saw the relief wash over him. 

“I’m really sorry y/n, if I had been allowed to visit I would have.”

“I know. Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” Finn, Rey, C3PO, and BB8 had just been standing there awkwardly for the last couple of minutes but now stood a little straighter.

“Oh right. Y/n this is Rey and Finn,” you smiled at each of them and shook their hands. “And this is BB8, he’s my droid.” BB8 whirred a greeting.

“Hey there buddy! It’s so nice to me you,” you smiled. Poe looked up in surprise at you understanding of his beeps.

“Since when do you know droid? When I left you always needed a translator.”

“A lot has changed.” You smiled sadly and patted his shoulder. “Who’s this?” You gestured to C3PO.

“This is-” Poe started.

“Hello, I am C3PO. Human cyborg relations, it is a pleasure to meet you y/n.” The droid spoke up over Poe who was trying to shut him up.

“3PO she doesn’t need to hear the whole spiel. Sorry-” Poe began to apologize but you just ignored him.

“Hello C3PO, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” You smiled and turned back to Poe. “Where did you get these droids? They’re in amazing condition. Anyways, as much as I’d like to believe that you’re here to see me, I know you’re not. What do you need?”

“We need to access 3PO’s forbidden memory drive. He’s got some stuff we need. Can Babu do it?” He asked. Babu responded in his own garbled language from the bench.

“He says of course he can do it.” You translated. “Don’t worry Poe, you’ll get what you need.”

~

While Babu Frik worked on the back of 3PO’s head to access the forbidden memory drive, you stood to the side with your arms crossed.

“So,” Finn asked as he and Rey walked up beside you, “how do you know Poe?” 

“Hm? Oh we go way back. He took care of me when I was really young and when we were both spice runners, he was like my big brother. When he left Zorii took me in and raised me the rest of the way.” You told them.

“So he just got up and left?” Rey asked, she sounded somewhat skeptical and disbelieving. You understood it though, she and Finn probably saw Poe as a ‘so righteous he can do no wrong’ sort of man, but we all have our moments.

“He just wasn’t happy here, I guess,” You shrugged. “He needed to move on.”

While on watch outside, Zorii and Poe were having a similar conversation. They sat side by side in the same place that you had sat with Poe when you had last spoken all those years ago.

“Why did you leave her Poe?” Zorii asked after a moment of silence between the two. “You knew that she needed you but you just left her.”

“I know... I’m sorry Zorii. I just needed to leave.” Poe couldn’t meet her gaze so instead he looked out over Kijimi. 

“You know, she cried for days after you left. You abandoned her Poe, you abandoned me, you abandoned the crew.” He didn’t say anything, he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry Zorii, I’m sorry I left you, y/n, and everyone so suddenly. I’m sorry I left you to take care of her before even talking with you about it.” Zorii gave a small nod of appreciation for the apology. They stayed silent for a couple minutes more just watching the destruction that had become Kijimi before Poe broke the silence.

“How long has it been like this?”

“The First Order took most of the kids a long time ago. I can’t stand the cries anymore. I’ve saved up enough to get out, I’m going to the colonies and I’m taking y/n with me.”

“How? All those hyper lanes are blocked.” Poe reminded her. She reached down into her boot to pull out a small silver disk with different sized slots cut into it. “That’s First Order captains medallion!” He looked at it with nothing but awe and wonder. “I’ve never seen a real one!”

“Free passage through any blockade. Landing privileges, any vessel.” After a brief moment of hesitation, Zorii lifted up the visor that covered her eyes. “Do you want to come with us?” She had a little bit of hope that he would say yes and then you, her, and Poe could all be back together once again. Poe looked at the ground and though for a moment but then looked back up at her.

“I can’t walk out of this war, not until it’s over.” He told her truthfully. It hurt him to say it, he wanted more than anything to be able to run away with them but he had a duty to the Resistance and he didn’t want to make the same choice that he had made twelve years ago when he left you and Zorii in the dust. It was then that Zorii knew that he was a different man from when she knew him before. He was more mature, he had a sense of duty and responsibility. “Maybe it is. We sent out a call for help at the Battle of Krait, nobody came. People are afraid, they’ve lost hope.” 

“No, I don’t believe you believe that. They win by making you think that you’re alone. There’s more of us.” She told him with absolute confidence in her voice.

~

You ran through the streets with Rey, Finn, Poe, Zorii, BB8, and C3PO to get them on a transport out of Kimiji. As you ran you whispered something to Zorii and she nodded.

“Poe! It might get you on a capital ship.” Zorii held up the medallion for him to take. He looked at it with wide eyes and then back up at you and Zorii.

“Go help your friend Poe.” You urged him.

“I don’t think I can take this-!” He tried to refuse it but she pressed it into his gloved palm.

“I don’t care what you think!” Zorii cut him off.

“What about you and y/n? How will you get out?”

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll manage, we always have.” She assured him.

“We have to go!” Rey called from the ship.

“Come with us!” He suggested. But Zorii shook her head.

“You need to go.” He began to turn around but you stopped him one last time.

“Poe! I’m going to miss you so much.” You attacked him with a bear hug just as he was about to get on the ship. “It was so good to see you again. Promise me that you’ll come back to visit, for real this time.”

“Yeah, you too y/n. I promise, as soon as all of this is over we’ll tour the galaxy. I love you so much Ladybug.” And with that, he turned back and got onto the ship. You waved at him as the doors closed and then followed Zorii back through the streets. You really hoped that you would see him again, your big brother, your hero. Seeing him had brought out the little seven year old kid in you waiting for him to come back just to say hi. You didn’t hate him, you never did. But some part of you knew that you might never see him again.

[thevividgreenmoss]

Soldiers on duty sit on a bench beside the entryway, I go in, dry, fallen leaves fly and swirl and sweep and tumble toward me. This is exceptionally amusing and at the same time contemplative; the lively is always more contemplative than what is dead and sad. Park air welcomes me; the many thousand green leaves of the lofty trees are lips that wish me good morning: So you’re up already too? Indeed, yes, I’m surprised myself. A park like this resembles a large, silent, isolated room. In fact it’s always Sunday in a park, by the way, for it’s always a bit melancholy, and the melancholy stirs up vivid memories of home, and Sunday is something that only ever existed at home, where you were a child. Sundays have something parental and childish about them. I walk on beneath the tall, beautiful trees, how softly and amicably they rustle, a girl is sitting all alone upon a bench, poking the ground with her parasol, her pretty head bowed, absorbed in thought. What might she be thinking? Would she like to make an acquaintance? A long, pale-green avenue opens up, here and there a person walks toward me, the benches meanwhile are only rather sparsely populated. How the sun does like to shine, for no reason at all. It kisses the trees and the water of the artificially constructed lake; I examine an old railing and laugh because it pleases me. Nowadays it’s fashionable to pause before old iron railings to admire their sturdy, delicate workmanship, which is a bit silly. Onward. Suddenly an acquaintance is standing before me: Kutsch, the writer, who fails to recognize me although I call out a friendly greeting. What’s wrong with him? By the way, I’d thought all this time he’d gone off to the African colonies. I hurry up to him, but all at once he vanishes; indeed, this was only a foolish delusion on my part: the spot beneath the tall oak tree where I thought I saw him is empty. A bridge! How the water glistens and shimmers in the sun, so enchantingly. But there’s no one rowing here, which makes the lake appear drowsy, it’s as if it were only a painted lake. Young people arrive. Strange, the way we look into each other’s eyes on a Sunday afternoon like this, as if we had something to say to one another, but we have nothing at all to say, we say to ourselves. A small, charmingly slender castle rises before me between the trees in the blue-and-white air. Who might have lived here? Perhaps someone’s mistress? I hope so, it’s an appealing thought. This place may once have swarmed with high and the highest nobility, hackney cabs and carriages and servants in green-and-blue livery. How deserted and neglected this stately edifice appears! Thank God no one notices, for if an architect were to come and renovate it with the help of his intellectual spectacles—with your permission, I’ll swallow this notion unpondered. What has become of us as a people that we can possess the beautiful only in dreams. An old woman and an old man sit there, I walk past and also pass a girl who is reading; no use trying to begin a romance with the words: “What are you reading, miss?” I am walking rather quickly, then suddenly stop: how beautiful and quiet such a park is, it transports you to the most distant landscapes, you find yourself in England or Silesia, you’re lord of the manor and nothing at all. The most beautiful thing is when you seem not to be conscious of the beauty and merely exist as do other things as well. I gaze down for a while at the silent, half-green river. Everything, by the way, is so green, and so gray, which actually is a color for slumber, for closing one’s eyes. In the distance, ringed with leaves, one sees the bluish dress of a seated lady. Cigarette smoking isn’t permitted here either. A girl laughs brightly, strolling between two young gentlemen, one of whom has his arm around her. Once more a view down an avenue of trees, how beautiful, how quiet, how strange. An old woman comes toward me, her delicate, pale face framed in black, these old, clever eyes. In all honesty, I find it magnificent when a solitary old woman walks down a green avenue. I reach a bed of flowers and other vegetation where, on a pretty, shady bench, sits a Jew. Should it have been a Teuton, would that be better? A small statue stands surrounded by flowers in a circular bed, I walk slowly around its edge, and now the reading girl appears once more, she’s reading as she walks, studying French under her breath. This marvelous boredom that is in all things, this sunny seclusion, this halfheartedness and drowsiness beneath the green, this melancholy, these legs, whose legs, mine? Yes. I’m too indolent to make observations, I gaze down at my legs and march onward. I mean it: Sundays only exist around the family table and on family walks. The single adult person is deprived of this pleasure, he might as well, like Kutsch, set off for Africa at a moment’s notice. Besides, what a loss it is to have turned twenty-five. There are compensations, but at present I want nothing to do with them. I’m on the street now, smoking, and step into a respectable pub, and here I am at once master of my surroundings. Beautiful park, I think, beautiful park.

Robert Walser, The Park (from Berlin Stories)

[group86]

Complete Coffee Information. Coffe is a beverage that is consumed by more than 2.25 billion cups per day in the world. It is estimated that 2 thirds of people on earth drink a cup of coffee every day. How difficult can it be imagined with such a large amount, until the equivalent of coffee plays the second world commodity after petroleum.

Because coffe is so important to our lives, wherever humans in the world need it. However, do we know this magical essence from which they can be present at our table. A long journey that coffee drinkers must understand, we try to tell a little about this trip.

Coffee History and Types of Coffee in The WorldHistory and Types of World Coffee

The history of coffe is said to begin in the 9th century in Ethiopia. However, the cultivation and trade of coffee only became popular in the 15th century by Arab traders in Yemen. Coffe reached Europe in the 17th century but could not grow well there. European nations then used their colonies to cultivate coffe plants. Indonesia, which is occupied by the Netherlands, has a big share in the history and distribution of types of coffe in the world... Continue reading...

Difference Between Arabica and Robusta Coffee

The two most popular types of coffe on the market are arabica and robusta beans. Of all the types of coffe that are rotated and marketed in the world, around 70% are arabica. While Robusta controls about 28% and the rest is liberika.

This second species has many differences, from the way it is planted, the harvest, to the taste. Both arabica and robusta, each has advantages and disadvantages of each. But presumably, Arabica has a greater interest than Robusta. Because of that arabica has more variety with more diverse flavors than Robusta... Continue reading...

Get to know the most popular coffee varieties in the world

Varieties in biological taxonomies refer to subspecies resulting from mutations both naturally and humanly engineered. Each variety has a different character and taste. That is why crossing is done to produce superior seeds with the advantages of each plant.

Typica and bourbon are the oldest arabica coffe varieties taken from Ethiopia and the forerunner to the many varieties of arabica coffe in the world. In addition to arabica varieties, there are also hybrid varieties, namely crosses between different species. For example, there is a hybrid de timor which is a cross between Arabica and Robusta. There are still many varieties that are popular in the world that you can recognize by reading the article here... Continue reading...

Types of Coffee and Coffee Beans

If you hear or read the term coffe type, there will be several points of view. This term can refer to species, varieties, plantations (single origin), or even types and variations of drinks.

Various viewpoints occur because word types do have ambiguous meanings. There is a lot of interesting information that can add to your insight about coffee... Continue reading...

10 Largest Coffee Producing Countries in the World.

Unfortunately, coffee plants cannot grow well in any place. The ideal location for plantations and coffee is located at 20 ° North Latitude and 20 ° South Latitude, meaning the ideal climate of coffee. Plantations must also be at a high land level, for robusta between 400-800 masl and 1000-2000 masl for arabica.

The three largest coffee-producing countries in 2016 are Brazil, Vietnam, and collections. Indonesia ranks fourth with an estimated total production of 660,000 tons per year... Continue reading...

Get to know Indonesian Civet Coffee, one of the most expensive coffee in the world

Aside from being the fourth largest coffe producer and having a rich variety of coffe, Indonesia also holds the title of the most expensive coffee-producing country. Indonesian civet coffe is one of the most expensive types of coffee in the world because it has exotic value and is classified as rare. This drink is derived from coffee beans harvested from wild civet feces that are cleaned.

Among the audience, this drink is considered unique because of its soft and friendly sour taste in the stomach. This taste comes from the fermentation process in the mongoose's stomach.

The high price and low production impact on the emergence of captive civet coffee. Unfortunately, this breeding raises other problems such as inappropriate product claims, poor coffe quality, and animal abuse...Continue reading...

Travel Stories and Coffee Processing Process until Ready to Be Brewed

Before it can be enjoyed and proven its properties for the body, a cup of coffe goes through a very long process. The process includes harvesting, postharvest, and roasting.

The process of harvesting coffe can not be arbitrary, because the harvest carelessly will cause a defect in the coffee beans. After harvesting and sorting, the beans will be separated from the beans and depulping. The methods are varied, namely fully washed, semi-washed, natural process, and so on.

The next process is roasting. There are three levels of roasting maturity, namely light, medium, and dark.

All of the above processes can each form different characters and flavors of coffe. For that, it is necessary to recognize the character of coffee before brewing it into a drink to produce maximum taste... Continue reading...

Various Types of Coffee Beverages from Espresso Based to Manual Brew

The same coffee can produce a variety of sensations when served in different ways. In general, the presentation of coffe can be divided into two, espresso-based and manual brew.

Espresso based is a drink that uses espresso as the basis of a mixture with other ingredients, for example, milk, creamer, chocolate, or ice cream. For example espresso, americano, cappuccino, latte, and so on.

While manual brew coffee is a beverage brewed without an automatic machine. For example, coffee brew, pour-over, Vietnam drip, and others.

It is important to know the type of coffee drink, especially if you want to do the brewing. By recognizing the types, you can maximize the tools and ingredients you have for a delicious cup of coffe... Continue reading...

How to Make Coffee Like a Coffee Barista

After getting to know various types of coffee drinks, you have the opportunity to make it yourself at home. You need to prepare several things, including coffe beans, grinding tools, and brewing equipment.

After preparing everything, determine what drinks you want to make, whether espresso-based or manual brew... Continue reading...

Get to Know the Understanding, Tasks, and Tips to Become a Coffee Barista

Along with the proliferation of typical Italian cafes or coffee shops, the barista profession is also increasingly in demand. However, maybe not many people know what the barista's duties and responsibilities really are. It not only mixes hot water with coffe grounds but also mixes it in such a way as to produce a delicious taste.

Not only does it require expertise and knowledge about this Ethiopian beverage, but baristas also need to master other skills in dealing with customers. If you are interested in pursuing this profession, try to find out in advance what the tasks, conditions, and tips... Continue reading...

Variety of Coffee Makers

To make a good drink, espresso, or manual brew, you need a coffee maker. There are various types of tools for brewing coffe, from manual to electric. Manual brewing equipment for example Moka pot, Rok Presso, and V60. While electric brewing equipment, for example, automatic espresso machines and electric percolators.

Not only brewing tools, but other supporting tools are also very important. Some must-have items are grinders, kitchen thermometers, scales, kettles, and timers. By recognizing these tools, at least you have become a barista... Continue reading...

Know the Components and Types of Espresso Coffee Machines

Being a barista would be incomplete if you didn't understand the espresso machine. At least, first identify the important components in an espresso machine in general such as portafilter, group head, and water boiler.

There are a variety of espresso machines based on how they operate, of course with different prices. Espresso machines have several types, namely super-automatic, automatic, semi-automatic, manual, and professional espresso machines.

Before deciding to buy an espresso machine, it's good to recognize the advantages and disadvantages of each type of machine. Choose the machine that suits your needs.

Continue reading...

Words about Coffee that can Represent the Contents of your Heart

Coffee apparently not only gives pleasure to those who consume it. This bitter drink is also often used as inspiration in creating words to pour the contents of the heart.

Like its rich flavor, words about coffee are also rich in meaning and can be used in a variety of situations. Starting from seducing a crush, to be used as motivation to restore the spirit that is going down... Continue reading...

Benefits, Recommendations, and the Best Time to Drink Coffee for the Body

Behind the bitter taste, a cup of coffee has various health benefits. Starting from preventing the emergence of severe diseases such as type II diabetes to treat minor illnesses such as headaches. But make no mistake, although healthy does not mean you can consume this drink arbitrarily.

There are certain times and restrictions that you must consider before consuming coffee. Breaking them not only removes benefits but can also harm your health. Therefore pay close attention to the suggestions in this article so that a delicious cup of coffee remains healthy for your body... Continue reading...

Benefits of Black & Green Coffee for Health and Beauty

After dealing with the origin, type, and production of coffe in the world, let's move on to other facts about the benefits of coffee. You may already be familiar with the statement that coffee is a sleepy drink or friends staying up late. However, did you know the other benefits of coffee for the body, both in terms of health and in terms of beauty?

This bitter drink is a natural antioxidant that can ward off toxic substances in the body. Some of the benefits of coffe are good for health, namely as a stimulant of nerve function, relieve headaches, prevent Alzheimer's, and reduce the risk of diabetes. In terms of beauty, coffe is used for skincare, hair, and dietary supplements... Continue reading...

[missmagicandlight]

Shit I just feel bad for England constantly with how everyone treats him, like I don't know how one goes on living this way for internity alone a single life time. Would you do an au where he just stops paying them attention or reacting. Unless you don't want to it's cool

England’s fine. The level of antagonism the states give him is nothing on what Mexico and her kids do to Spain. Seriously. Mexico bit off one of Spain’s fingers as a kid. 

Sometimes the states don’t even mean it too terribly, it’s just that England is and Old Man and doesn’t understand that sometimes the insults are affectionate. Generally, the only ones that really hate him are the northeast. Everyone else? This is the same stuff they regularly pull on Canada/America/Prussia/Government officials. 

The desktop goose thing? Colorado has done that same thing to the mayor of three cities and his governor. If England would actually admit that he doesn’t know how to get rid of it, Colorado would do it for him. 

The rattlesnake thing? Dude, England did a hell of a lot worse during the revolution. California has zero sense of boundaries and watches too many makeover shows. Vermont is a math person. Idaho was maybe being a little mean, but look, mister the-sun-never-sets-on-the-british-empire can handle a teenager being a little mean. Finally, Montana was right about that dye job in the 70s. 

(Honestly, England would get along with the states better if he stopped trying so hard and actually remembered who is/isn’t his kid.)

Anyway, have some random pieces of an England-States thing I started and never finished below the cut:

Massachusetts hates him, so Maine hates him in solidarity. New York dislikes him for apparently numerous reasons, which doesn't exactly endear him to New Jersey or Pennsylvania. Maryland seems to despise his very presence for no apparent reason. Rhode Island is just unimpressed. 

Virginia seems to like him well enough, but West Virginia watches him warily. Connecticut and New Hampshire barely tolerate him, and Delaware simply doesn't care. The three southern colonies seem content to watch and wait, and Prussia takes pleasure in gleefully explaining that it doesn't bode well that the only states that seem to actually like him are the southern originals and Hawaii. 

(AN: Mass hates him because of revolutionary war reasons. New York has soooo many reasons, but also mainly stem from revolution reasons. Maryland doesn’t like him because of the burning Washington thing.)

~

New York gives him a flat, unimpressed look. 

Pennsylvania winces in sympathy, though he looks more bemused than sympathetic. 

“Thirty. Two. Thousand. Troops.” New York says, spitting out each word. “Remember that? Occupation of New York? Burned what? Over a third of the city?”

“There's no way to tell for certain that my men were responsible for that-”

New York raises an eyebrow, an expression that reeks of the Netherlands, even if he’d only been aware of her existence as long as Arthur had. 

“Look, England. Just stop. I don't like you, but if you stay out of my business, I'll stay out of yours. Alfred makes his own decisions.” Her gaze flickers over him, and Arthur has the distinct impression that she doesn't like what she sees. “Poor as they may be.” 

-

Georgia shrugs. Arthur likes Georgia, even if she has the same unfortunate hair color as Ireland. She’s honest. “The Northerners don’t like you because you were worse to them during the revolution,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “You were practically Sam’s boogeyman, you know? You were occupying Boston and New York City and that was painful for them. Then the whole business during the civil war-”

“What business during the civil war?” Arthur asks, though he’s sure he already knows.

Georgia sets the watering can down harshly. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Even the younger ones know that if Lincoln hadn’t pulled that stunt with the Emancipation Proclamation, you would have thrown your lot in with us gladly, just to spite Alfred.”

Arthur’s mouth feels dry, and he swallows to try and fix it just as Georgia continues. 

“They read your letters, you know.” 

Arthur stills. “What?”

Georgia eyes him. “Alfred was insensible for half the war. Del and Cam handled most of his duties. They read the letters you sent in response to his, and that didn’t really help your case with the Northerners.”

“And with the Southerners?” Arthur asks. 

Alfred and his states both avoid mentioning the civil war.

Georgia tilts her head. “We weren’t around. We only knew about it afterward, and we had other things to worry about by then. You’d be better off leaving the north alone and trying not to piss off the rest of the country. Sometimes you can’t rebuild the bridges you burn.”

-

One of the Carolinas- he isn't very good at telling them apart, though Alfred assures him that it comes with time- shrugs. “We mailed you a rattlesnake once.”

Arthur pauses. “That was you?”

The other Carolina scoffs. “What, you thought it was Alfred? ‘Course not. It was wrapped in a Don’t Tread On Me flag.”

[riverboundao3ff]

Riverbound, Chapter 4

Your name is DARAYA JONJET, and for the first time in sweeps you wake up eager to start the night. There’s a strange sense of something holding you down to Alternia-- not like you’re being weighed down by grief, but as if you were only partially existing in this reality before the previous morning. Now, there’s all of you in one body to make up one whole troll. It’s absolutely incredible.

Is this what feeling like a person is like? It does kind of slap.

Anyways, you rock up to class in your nicest pair of combat boots and your favorite flannel, ready to get everything over with so you could go see your friend. Lynera had texted you right after you woke up saying that they were stable and on painkillers, but you were still itching to go see them. It’s not like you were going to be able to focus, anyways.

The second you sit down the girls next to you turn around. One of them is Aviann, who mostly took care of midblood wigglers, and Natiri, who was on guard duty when Lynera saved your friend.  

“Is it true?” Aviann whispers. You nod.

“How are they?” Natiri still looks a little frazzled from having to deal with a hysterical Lynera dragging in a half-dead alien. You don’t blame her.

“They’ll be okay. Broken ribs and they’re really underweight,” you mutter under your breath. “If they were a troll they’d be dead. Apparently their species is pretty resistant to starvation.”

Aviann’s eyes grow round. “That’s so cool. Your alien is tough.”

You feel a flash of pride. “Hell yeah, they are.”

“How long before they heal? I wanna see them again,” Natiri begs.

“After class I’ll take you to them. They don’t want to self-isolate.”

Aviann looks even more impressed. “Wow, really? So they’re not afraid of being culled?”

“Nah. They’re not afraid.” You can’t help but brag a little. “One time they fought a purpleblood with a cerulean friend of theirs and they won.”

Now both of them are wide-eyed. Ceruleans are pretty strong, but it would still take two or three of them to take out a clown.

“Hey, back row! No talking!” the girl up front yells. Ugh.

You look at your worksheet that has been waiting for you on your desk. If you stare at the letters for too long they start going a little fuzzy, on account of you getting like ten ticks of sleep before waking up for schoolfeeding. You’d been up all day texting back and forth with Tyzias, and then Stelsa, and then eventually somebody made a group chat with all the teals in it so you could update everybody on what was going on. Tagora called you to ask when they could come see the alien, and you actually felt bad listening to the desperation in his voice, hoarse from lack of sleep. Nobody besides jadebloods were allowed in the caverns, so you had to tell them it might be a couple of wipes before they could walk. The little kid called Tirona threw a full-blown temper tantrum upon hearing that.

In another chat, you and Tyzias discussed plans for the three of you to meet up so you could tell your friend about the rebellion. Namely, how you and Tyzias were basically the leaders of a (very) small group of people who believed that Alternia could be a better place. It’s messy and honestly kind of pathetic but it’s something and you really think the alien would be really excited to see that you’re trying to make a change.

The worksheet is taken care of by copying off Aviann in exchange for telling her more about your friend’s physiology. She’s fascinated by their unusually strong pack-bonding instinct, is confused as to how they could be a diurnal species, and definitely doesn’t believe you when you tell her that they’re a great swimmer.

“They don’t have fins, do they? Or gills? How are they supposed to breathe?” she hisses.

“For the last time, dude, they’re a mammal. They don’t have fins or gills, they hold their breath while underwater. Look, I’ll take you to them sometime, they’re really nice,” you retort. “Also, I think the answer for number fifteen is X.”

“No, it’s Z. And fine, but if the drones come after me for associating with an alien I’m throwing your skinny ass under the omniscuttlecoach.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You look up at the timeteller and groan. The longer wand has only moved twenty ticks, and you’re getting handed a packet as thick as your little finger.

Fuck.

:::

You have no idea how you make it to the end of the session, but you do know that when the bell rings you’re up and out of your seat, almost forgetting your backpack in the process. The chick in charge of the class shouts after you about something, but you don’t care, because hell yes you’re going to see your friend and nobody can stop you.

Aviann and Natiri catch up with you on longer legs, but you manage to keep the lead in order to show them the way to Lynera’s study. Lynera is a very private person, so most of the others don’t even know where the study is, much less the fact her respiteblock is connected to it. You found that out when you got high a sweep ago and decided to go snooping around in the middle of the day.

“Won’t Skalbi be pissed?” Natiri whispers, looking around anxiously.

“Nah. Me and like a dozen other people were in there last morning and she lived,” you say casually. Of course when you try the door, it’s locked, but you have compressed tree slice clips and nimble claws.

You don’t get very far. A couple seconds into jiggling the lock the door flies open to reveal a very cross Lynera Skalbi, hands on her hips and brows furrowed into a tight line.

Natiri squeaks in terror, ears flat against the sides of her head. “Oh, hi, Lynera-!”

“We wanna see them,” you interrupt before Natiri can start blabbering.

Lynera’s gaze flickers over the three of you. “You two are friends with the alien as well?”

“Um, we’ve talked a few times,” Aviann offers. “One time they covered my shift when I had thorax pox.”

Natiri’s obviously still too scared to say anything, so you duck under Lynera’s arm and youth roll right into the study. Lynera squawks in protest. Aviann and Natiri follow your example, judging by Natiri’s yelp when she scrapes her horns on the floor.

You manage to not kill yourself on the way down the stairs, and sure enough, when you reach the bottom you see your friend curled up on the loungeplank. They’re awake, and when they see you their eyes light up.

“Hi, Daraya,” they say, their voice warm like a snuggleplane. Something in your brain responds by bringing forth almost-buried memories of being much smaller, safely wrapped up against the belly of something soft and furry.

“Hi,” you manage. There’s a tightness in your chest that both takes away and feeds the pain of having missed them so much for so long. “How are the ribs?”

“Still there.” Round white teeth flash in a cheesy grin. You roll your eyes to the heavens above, but you’re relieved to see that they still have the same crappy sense of humor they had when you meant them.

You feel the air displace behind you, and the alien looks around you curiously. “Oh, hello. I didn’t know you were bringing friends. It’s… Natiri, and…?”

“Aviann. Aviann Inkani,” says the younger of the two, adjusting her glasses and peering owlishly down at them. “You covered my shift once when I had thorax pox.”

The alien’s lips twitched up in a smile. “Oh, now I remember you. Glad to see you’re feeling better, kiddo.”

“Thanks,” Aviann said, looking a tad flustered, before recovering enough to whip out a small green notebook. “Um, Daraya mentioned a couple of interesting things concerning your physiology earlier tonight, and I was wondering if you were feeling well enough to do a short interview? For science.”

“Aviann! Natiri! Daraya!” Lynera comes huffing back into the study, looking steamed at the presence of more people around the injured alien. “They are trying! To rest!”

“It’s totally okay, Lynera, I have literally nothing else to do. But it’s your study, so.” The alien blinks calmly up at her. Natiri stares in awe.

Lynera hesitates, something in her eyes softening as she meets your friend’s gaze. “Alright. Come get me if you want to get back to sleep, though.”

“I will,” they promise. Lynera beams down at them before giving you the stink-eye on her way back up the stairs. Sucks to suck, Skalbi.

Aviann is grinning ear-to-ear, and you can tell she’s having a difficult time restraining herself from jumping for joy. She’s wanted to be a scienterrorist as long as you’d known her. “Oh, wow, really? Thank you!”

“It’s my pleasure,” the alien promises, patting the side of the loungeplank. “Come sit down if you want.”

Aviann carefully approaches them and sits down a couple of feet away, with Natiri close behind. You smirk and pass them to sit down on the loungeplank with your friend. They’re about as dangerous as a dead squeakbeast at the moment, but your fellow classmates don’t know that.

“What do you want to know?” the alien prompts, resting their head on their elbow.

“I have a couple of questions regarding the general behavior of your species. You guys are called humans, correct?” Aviann asks.

“We are.”

“Would you consider yourself to be, physically and otherwise, an average human?”

The alien raises their brows, thoughtful. “That’s a tough question. I’d have to say no. I have a couple of mental disorders, which the majority of humans don’t. You could say the circumstances of my situation prohibit me from… being associated with the norm.”

Aviann scribbles furiously in her notebook. “You seem very confident in admitting that you possess traits that could land somebody in trouble on Alternia. Do you think humans have a less intense fear response than trolls?”

“No. Humans are incredibly social creatures, much more than trolls. We have strong bonding instincts that urge us to protect one another, even if they’re strangers, disabled, dangerous, or even enemies. Granted, not all humans feel like this, but I’d say as a species we like to stick together,” they clarify.

More scribbling. “How did humans evolve to be a colony, er, pack-based society?”

The alien smiles. “This is going to sound insane to you, but humans live together in families. Parents are the one to raise their children, or if the parents can’t for whatever reason then other adults will.”

Natiri’s jaw drops, and Aviann stops writing. “Are you saying that… adults and juveniles all live together?”

“We do.”

“So your lusii are… the two adults who combined their genetic material to create offspring?”

“That’s right. Adults take care of children.”

Even you’re blown away by this. “Earth sounds kind of terrifying.”

Your friend chuckles. “Not as much as Alternia, dude.”

Aviann taps her pencil to her notes a couple of times. You can practically hear the gears turning in her head. “Is this because you’re… mammals? Creatures who give live birth to their young are predisposed to wanting to nurture them, right?”

“Very good!” The alien looks genuinely impressed. “Believe me, I was just as weirded out by how you guys get kicked off-planet when you grow up.”

“Everybody knows adults are dangerous,” Natiri scoffs.

“By my planet’s standards, I’m an adult. A very young one, though,” the alien points out.

Both Natiri and Aviann do a double-take.

“But… you’re so small,” Aviann says.

“Some humans just don’t grow a whole lot.” They shrug. “It’s genetics.”

Aviann nods and writes more stuff down. “That’s all the questions I have right now. Thanks again, really.”

“You’re more than welcome.” You can see that your friend is starting to get tired, and you pat their leg. Natiri nods to you, and she pokes Aviann’s shoulder. Aviann glances reluctantly back at you and the alien as she gets up to follow Natiri. You give her the one-finger salute. The alien smiles and waves.

“Bye,” they call after them.

Natiri and Aviann wave and say goodbye as well, and then it’s just you and your friend again. Their eyes are closed, but you can tell from the rhythm of their breathing that they’re awake.

“The teals know you’re back,” you tell them.

Their hazel eyes snap open and fixate on you. “How are they?”

“Very happy to know you’re alive. Tirona has a bunch of memes waiting for your review, and Tagora basically cried. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

An exhausted smile makes its way onto your friend’s face. “You know, I think I’ll be ready to walk again tomorrow. Could you text Tyzias and let her know to meet me at the bottom of the mountain?”

“Already?” You’re impressed. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

A strange feeling pangs in your bloodpusher as the alien closes their eyes. You aren’t used to being thanked. Before you can get up to leave, however, there’s a familiar knocking at the door. The alien jolts awake.

Scowling, you stomp up the stairs to give whoever a piece of your mind for disturbing your friend’s sleep, but before you can get the door it opens on its own.

It’s Bronya, and right beside her, wide-eyed, is Karako.

Your anger dissipates at once. Karako had been out the past two nights; of course he missed the whole welcome-back shindig for your mutual pal. You nod to him and step aside to let him and Bronya pass.

“Are you still taking visitors?” You hear Bronya ask kindly. Karako gives a high-pitched squeal of delight, and the alien’s laughter fills the whole study with pure joy.

You feel yourself smile, and it stays with you the whole way back to your respiteblock. The first thing you were going to do was get all of your hivework done, all of it, and then you were going to sleep early.

Tomorrow was going to be a big night.

[chaoticneutralwriter]

A Demon’s Musings

If Marie Kondo could see him now, she would be very pleased (well, as much as a person would with a demon). And though the things he used to get into don’t quite spark the same kind of joy like it did in his earlier days, he still thinks he’s one hell of a demon -- just with different priorities now.

guardian demon! Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, comedy, supernatural, slow-burning, slice of life

word count: 6.8k

Warnings: some heavily implied shady shit like deaths, drugs, alcohol, murder, violence and generally things that don’t faze a demon.

A side story during the time of Distance and the Heart

Related works: See Masterlist

A/N: Not a straight continuation from where we last left off but some exposition stuff and delving into the mind of our dear guardian demon Jimin :) Also a little bit of a rushed edit so....anything funky going on please forgive me ^^;;

Small.

 So small.

 And so very fragile — human lives that is.

 It’s made even more obvious when you happen to be a demon, standing atop the tallest building you can find, looking down from it. How easily the change of perspective can turn even the most powerful man to look like nothing more than a scurrying ant, marching in a colony – a worker, a drone.

 Humans, he thinks, become so easily obsessed with such meaningless things like money or power to stand above the rest that in the grand scheme of things, they’re just like everyone else.

 Pathetic.

 It all means nothing in the end anyways, especially when you’re standing at the gates (figuratively speaking). Now which one, well, it’s up to them.

 Still, it’s fun to mess with them.... Correction was fun.

 Jimin grunts to himself at the thought as he begins pacing precariously along the building’s ledge, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

 But he hasn’t always been like this, so disinterested in his nature as a demon spawned from the depths of hell — his inclination to lure poor, hapless souls to the dark side.

 He’d taken great pleasure doing those things; nothing more satisfying than seeing his handy work play out like an oncoming train wreck. In his lifetime, he’s seen them all: from the simple cheating spouse to cold-blooded murder itself. It’s what demons do best; whisper sweet temptations of the deepest, darkest desire to tip the scale in their favour and once their victim has fallen from grace, catch them with open arms.

 That’s the name of the game — corruption of the human soul, exploiting their weak nature. It’s simple and cute.

 Jimin stops his pacing, reaching the end of the ledge to glare at nothing in particular as he thinks ruefully;

 But so easy.

 He flicks one single finger and it all comes crashing down like a house of cards with them willingly in it. It even came to the point where he doesn’t even have to do anything to gain a corrupt soul; all he had to do was look around the corner. It’s like humans send themselves to hell for him. And so, he set off to find himself a new game to play, one that would at least give him a run for his money.

 If anyone who knew Jimin, they would say he was too ambitious for his own good and he would say that they’re right because admittedly, it’s what landed him in his current situation in the first place. In his quest to finding a new challenge, he had asked himself; what’s harder to tempt than puny, pathetic humans? Evidently anything.

 Impassively, Jimin takes a step off of the building and gravity immediately takes hold as he begins to make his sharp descent. Air rushes past him, whipping his hair and stinging his eyes but still, he remains stoic in the face of what would be a gruesome death to most. The corner of his lips twitch, feeling the adrenaline kick in as the ground draws nearer and just as he’s about to collide with it, his body halts, feet hovering just inches above the concrete and with the grace of a dancer, he floats the rest of the way down without a single scuff on his Louis Vuitton loafers.

 He runs a hand through his locks, ruffling the silken strands until he felt that they were somewhat tamed and with a final fixes to his jacket, Jimin saunters off down the busy street, not a single soul aware of what happened.

 Humans — so blissfully ignorant, Jimin sometimes finds himself envious of them as he moves through various crowds of people scurrying by. Even though he was under the cloaking spell, invisible to mortal eyes he still thinks they wouldn’t spare him a second glance, too busy rushing off to places or glued to their phones. It all further reminded him of his predicament; they’re such easy picking that eventually it didn’t take him long to find the perfect way to up the ante in his little game.

 Angels.

 More specifically: guardian angels.

 A shiver runs through him from the memory and he can’t quite hide the grin that has taken over plush lips. Ah, it seems like eons ago that he had conjured up that idea. Curiosity isn’t a sin but one definitely has to exercise caution with it but Jimin would always rather throw it to the wind because who didn’t want to know if a demon can tempt an angel into sin.

 Granted, it was only a low class angel but you gotta start small right?

 And it was far easier finding one than you think.

 Because you see, all humans — as incompetent as they can be — are all assigned to a guardian angel, meant to do what demons also do except the complete opposite: influence good actions and reward with good karma. Contrary to popular beliefs, demons and angels are all fairly equal in power because both have similar hierarchy. A lowly demon can be on par with a starting guardian angel and through time, both can climb the ladder through gaining respective karmic energy through the deeds of the person they influence.

 So it wasn’t that hard for Jimin to find a potential target — fresh-faced, hard working, green, and naive. He almost felt sorry when he was planting seeds of doubt into that pretty head of theirs. Didn’t help that he was assigned to a deplorable excuse for a human being to look after that perhaps that’s why by the end of it all, Jimin found he had grown a soft spot for his newly acquired fallen angel of a friend.

 For such a long, arduous process, it didn’t take long for everyone to find out; both upstairs and downstairs and boy did Jimin get an earful from his boss (in fact nearly got his ass singed off which would’ve been a huge loss for the world). Even though admittedly the stunt he pulled was ballsy and impressive (his boss’ words, not his), Jimin still needed to receive ‘divine punishment’ lest his boss wanted to deal with a bunch of literal holier-than-thou angels rioting at the gates of hell. So to get him out of his hair (to deal with an onslaught of paperwork) and for Jimin to avoid certain death via smiting, he was given his ultimatum — his quote on quote ‘community service hours’. And the rest was history.

 Now fast forward to his first check-in.

 It was nothing special nor worth noting as he had relayed to you before leaving; just a business-like meeting with his boss where he gets told if he’s doing a good job or not and any other updates regarding his case in overstepping the line. It wouldn’t even take him a full day — a simple in-and-out.

 Only it wasn’t so because 1) his meeting gets crashed by an uninvited guest (a colleague thankfully, but there goes his discrepancies) and 2) Jimin is informed that he was not meeting his daily quota.

 The memory has Jimin kissing his teeth in annoyance before he can stop himself, steps becoming a little heavier as he powers on down the street. He couldn’t believe it the first time he heard it. Him slacking? There’s no way in hell.

 But the numbers check out (his dear colleague made sure it was very clear to him i.e. shoving the report into his face and cackling loudly), even if he did miss it by a margin. And as if to add further insult to injury, it goes further on to say that heaven however, is satisfied with his work as temp guardian (sloppy but satisfactorily enough, at least she hasn’t died yet, it had read).

 It baffled him to no end; how is it that he’s managed to shirk his duties, as a demon but be somewhat good at being a guardian angel-albeit-demon?

 “You’re losing your touch, brother.” His underling colleague teased. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown soft ever since you’ve became a guardian to that human.”

 Jimin responded by setting fire to his pant leg.

 Lost his touch? Soft? As if.

 With nothing more to say, Jimin had stormed out of the room and crossed right back over to the mortal planes, jaw clenched and temper burning. The crisp cool air that had greeted him helped somewhat to tame it, but he could still feel the steam practically rising from his skin. He needed to vent and being back so early, he figured he had enough time to spare without jeopardizing your safety with his absence.

 So for the past few days he’d been going around observing the daily life of a human on earth like he had always done in the past, scoping out fresh meat to meddle his way into. He’d got the occasional shop lifter, scammer, one of those obnoxious teens who think they’re suddenly Nascar drivers the moment they are privileged with their own car…

 Jimin tsks like a disappointed mother, recalling that moment well; it was an illegal street race at 3AM (of course), a bunch of rambunctious teenagers who are so desperate to one-up their buddies at a game they didn’t realize they couldn’t win in no matter how many modifications they’ve made to their car.

 All it took was a drift turn gone wrong.

 Once again, how anti-climatic.

 Jimin heaves a breath, twisting his neck this way and that to release a satisfying crack as he watches the street lamps above him flicker to life; the sun had long set thanks to the short days of the winter season. Boredom was such a bitch to get out of once you’ve fallen into its dark abyss. It seems like there’s no cure for it. Which is a wonder why Jimin finds himself standing right across the street to the entrance of probably one of the places a demon like himself can get a bang for his buck.

 A nightclub.

 He can practically smell the alcohol and indecency from here. It’s a cesspool.

 His lips twitch at the sight, eyeing the burly man acting as a bouncer and the steady line of people waiting to get in. Jimin feels the bass of the music rather than hears it leaking through the closed door and the neon lights cast everything within its reach in a vibrant aqua green and pink shade. He feels like he’s outgrown places like these (an easy hunting ground) but tonight, he has no other plans.

 With a shrug, Jimin drops his cloaking spell and takes long, confident strides towards the front of the line. As soon as he gets within peripheral vision of the crowd, all heads turn and he feels the heat of their gazes on him. He bites his lips subtly to keep himself from smirking; never gets old.

 He approaches the bouncer head-on, maintaining steady eye contact and though it seems like the much larger, muscular man is unfazed by Jimin’s magic, he steps aside without a single word, allowing the demon in disguise to pass through the door and into the club. No protest was made from anyone.

 The music is even louder once Jimin passes through the threshold, down the illuminated cool tone hallway with its frosted glass walls before he finally reaches the heart of the club. The dance floor is filled with gyrating bodies moving to the beat of the song, strobe lights flickering sporadically in multiple colours being the only strong source of light to this dimly lit building. The DJ is situated on a slightly raised platform at the head of the dance floor, bobbing his head as he works the turn table and just slightly off to his side is one of many staircases leading up to the second floor, most likely holding VIP areas.

 Not much has changed from this scene, Jimin muses to himself as his eyes survey his surroundings. As he makes his way down the border aisle of the dance floor, he feels numerous sets of eyes following him, all vying for his attention. It makes him double check on himself to make sure he isn’t still using his enthralling magic (he’s not). Jimin pays them no mind, bypassing the bar, the fumes of smoke giving off dizzying, euphoric effects that had he not been a demonic entity would surely effected him with a single breath, before he makes it to one of the stairs leading upwards.

 He ascends them quickly until he’s on the second floor which was littered with various occupied booths, another fancier looking bar situated off to one side, standing side tables that overlooked the level below and a sectioned off area with velvet ropes and another bouncer. Perhaps to most, this would be the more intimidating places in a club because right off the bat, Jimin can see the shift in its patrons; he sees the sleek way they dress, the way they hold themselves with a higher air as they sip from crystal glasses with dark liquid in it, the impressive bottle sitting not too far from their reach on the table and the subtle glint their jewels give off when the light catches.

 Most people would turn tail and run, feeling out of their league in this place.

 But not Jimin; not when he has a face like this and an aura that can easily dwarf these…. lesser beings.

 So he proceeds on forward unbothered, hand tousling his hair out of the way as he slides into the nearest stool by the bar. The bartender is immediately at his side, asking what he would like to order.

 “A glass of whiskey.” His eyes wander for a moment at the selection and his bartender waits patiently, almost with baited breath. Jimin’s eyes land on one of the tall, darken bottles before he answers with an easy smile. “Make it a Macallan please.”

 The bartender flounders for a split second, blinking from Jimin to the expensive bottle of whiskey before nodding and rushing off to prepare the drink. In the meantime, Jimin takes to turning around in his seat, leaning back casually against the glass bar counter, legs crossed to do what he does best; people-watch.

 Or more like play a twisted game of ‘I Spy’ with himself. It’s even more fun when he knows that everyone here thinks they can get away with things just because the lighting is a little dim.

 Like he spies with his little eyes, a pill being popped a little too eagerly.

 He sees things getting passed around, things being slipped with the sleight of hands and people getting frisky under the table. Nothing much escapes Jimin’s sharp eyes.

 Not even the girl who slyly slips into the seat next to him, her own eyes trained onto his profile like a hawk.

 “I see you’re a whiskey kind of guy.” The booming music gives her an excuse to lean in closer to Jimin but what she doesn’t know is that he can hear her perfectly fine without her having to. It makes his lips twitch as he smoothly reaches beside him for said drink and takes a slow sip, letting the smoky taste of the alcohol coat his tongue before feeling the burn of it travel down his throat. Demons don’t actually feel the effects of alcohol but they can still taste the flavour the drinks have to offer, which is why Jimin likes to indulge in a few drinks here and there.

 He keeps a hold of his glass, swirling the dark liquid before he languidly lets his gaze slide to his surprise companion, head tilting to allow strands of hair to fall into his darkened gaze in the slightest way to show that she’s caught his attention.

 “And what kind of drink are you?” Jimin indulges, shifting a little forward to let the timbre of his voice project more. The girl gets flustered now that he has eyes on her but with a valiant effort, she plays it cool, flicking her dark hair off to one side flirtatiously.

 “How about you buy me one and find out?”

 The reply causes Jimin to throw his head back with a laugh; the sight obviously pleases her as red lips spread into a wide smile. He nods to himself and turns to the bartender, waving him down easily for the girl beside him to order her drink (a mojito). Jimin’s reaction gives her a boost of confidence, making her shift closer until she’s practically pressing into his side.

 “I’m Jenny by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, first time?”

 Jimin lets out a chuckle, bringing the glass up again to take another sip. “You could say that.” He pauses, letting the rim of the glass brush his bottom lip as he thinks for a moment before answering, “Julien.”

 Jenny’s drink arrives and she takes it into her hand, holding it out to him to clink against. “Cheers to that then.”

 He grins before obliging, tapping his glass to hers and it’s as if she’s unknowingly sealed the deal with the devil himself. A good portion of the night was spent getting to know one another (Jimin uses that term loosely), ordering more drinks and her getting braver each time. Though Jimin was not particularly engaged with the conversations they were having, he’s amused from the not-so-subtle ways she’s been trying to get him to leave the club with her to engage in…. other activities.

 Even more so when there were times he’s caught her peeking at her phone, seeing the way it lights up constantly until with a huff of annoyance, she puts it on silent mode, tosses it into her clutch and never bothers with it again. He pretends not to notice, keeping up with the charade and wrapping her around his fingers further.

 “Is it weird for me to say that it feels like I’ve known you my entire life?” Jenny giggles drunkenly, batting her eyelashes coyly from over the rim of her glass.

 “Oh?” Jimin responds playfully, swiveling his body to face her while propping an elbow up on the counter to support his chin, eyes glued to her as if he’s completely enamoured. “How so?”

 She puts her empty glass down and shuffles forward until she’s at the edge of her seat, leaning over slightly to accentuate the cleavage her dress’s deep neckline has to offer. The pretty brunette mimics Jimin’s gesture, eyes taking on a sheen from the alcohol consumption but no doubt still determined to get into his pants.

 “I don’t know…. It’s like,” She pauses, voice coming out breathy as her free hand begins to trail tantalizing up one of his knees to his upper thigh. Jimin pays it no mind, gaze steady on her face and it pushes her to continue. “I feel like we have really good chemistry together.”

 Jimin makes it seem like he’s intrigued by the idea, index finger rubbing against his bottom lip but finds that he has to hold himself from cracking a smile because of the way Jenny’s eyes flicker down to them, watching and unconsciously biting down on her own.

 “And do you have any proof to back up such a bold claim?”

 Jimin deliberately sets her up and she takes it – hook, line and sinker. He thinks he’s dragged this out long enough because frankly, he’s getting bored. The clueless girl can’t contain her smile, taking the invitation by leaning all the way until her lips just about brushes Jimin’s as she whispers, “Let me show you.”

 She closes the rest of the distance, almost crashing unceremoniously against Jimin and he grunts at the sudden added weight, one hand flying to her waist to steady her while the other cups the underside of her jaw. She moves fervently against his lips, hand carding through his hair while the other one remains firmly pressed against his thigh. Her enthusiasm nearly bulldozes Jimin, but he’s no pushover, especially to some drunk, human girl. So he easily takes charge, retaliating with a harsh nip to her lower lip when she had so eagerly tried to invade her tongue into his mouth and it elicits a whine. He grips her waist more firmly, moving to wedge his leg between hers and immediately, he feels her body submit to him.

 Jimin peers at her through half-closed lids, watching her melt under his touch so easily as the hand on her jaw snakes lower until it situates closer to her throat. He feels the desperation coming from her, sees the way her thighs part for him to get closer, causing the short skirt of her dress to ride up further. But he won’t give her that satisfaction, even as his tongue pries open her mouth and she lets out a whimpering moan.

 No, he won’t give her that satisfaction because this is all just a game to him.

 He pulls away the same time his hand on her waist comes to stop hers from inching any closer to the area between his legs, the whiffs of her sweet perfume had long become too suffocating for his senses. The girl is obviously displeased, brows scrunching up as she attempts to chase his lips. Jimin leans back slightly but doesn’t evade her when she presses her lips to his again, only this time he’s unresponsive. He waits and watches her come to realize his lack of response before he allows his gaze to drift off to the side where he spies the male figure who stands frozen at the head of the stairs, looking disheveled and with a phone clenched so hard in one hand that even Jimin can see the knuckles turn white from where he is.

 He feels, rather than sees Jenny’s lips leave his slowly and after a beat, Jimin dares to tilt his head to gauge her reaction. It nearly makes him burst out laughing.

 The girl looks absolutely horrified as all her attention is no longer on Jimin but on the man a few feet from her. The demon continues watching delightedly, like a drama unfolding before his very eyes as Jenny puts distance between herself and him as she staggers to stand from her seat, mouth agape. Jimin can’t help but to take the chance to add more fuel to this rapidly growing fire.

 “Someone…you know?” He asks tentatively as best as he can, despite knowing exactly who this is.

 He sees the girl’s breath hitch before she utters out a single name, “Tony…”

 Like Jimin had said, nothing goes unnoticed by him. Not when the mirror panels by the bar perfectly reflected the name that had flashed on her phone multiple times before she had decided to put it away.

 Tony is the first to snap out of his stupor, face darkening as he stomps over to his girlfriend. Without even sparing a single glance at Jimin, the man snatches her wrist and proceeds to forcefully drag her away. Jenny stumbles after his longer strides, crying out and slapping at his back as he takes her down the stairs and Jimin watches on impassively until the couple disappear out of sight. With the show being over, he turns back around, running a hand through his hair to fix the mess the girl had made. He also catches sight of his reflection and kisses his teeth at what he finds.

 Reaching for a napkin, Jimin wipes away the lipstick residue coating his mouth. He manages to get most of it off, leaving his lips tinged in the slightest shade of pink. He scoffs, annoyed before taking his glass and knocking back the rest of his drink. Jimin calls for the bill, swiftly tapping his black card on the machine without even glancing at the grand total and gets up to leave. He makes it halfway down the stairs before he decides to cloak himself for a swifter exit. With just a few steps, he’s teleported out of the club and into the chill night air.

 Only this time, there’s a commotion and he easily spots the cause. Jenny and her boyfriend were a few steps down the street from where the club was and were currently screaming their heads off at each other. There were a couple of onlookers but everyone seems very keen on not getting involved with this particular couple’s spat. Tony is visibly distressed, a hand aggressively running through his hair as he paces like an angry lion. Jenny is on the defensive, refusing to budge and making great effort in spite of her occasional wobbles. Jimin has to stifle a laugh, feeling very tempted to stay just to see how this will all end. Eventually, Tony has stopped pacing for a moment to point an accusatory finger at Jenny, cursing at her for cheating on him. She in turn yells back about the argument that lead up to that point.

 Enraged, Tony closes the gap between them to tower over Jenny who, even though has stood her grounds for the most part with liquid courage on her side, is rightfully intimidated by the aggression the male holds. There’s a tense moment of silence, the two glaring daggers at each other and Jimin watches on until he can’t bear the lack of action any longer.

 “What will you do?” He whispers but the weight of his words carry thanks to the magic underlying it, his eyes taking on an ominous glow. “She doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”

 He watches as his dark tempting take influence, sees the way the male’s vision cloud over in blinded fury before he makes to grab the girl’s wrist and drags her off, screaming and cursing all the way. Jimin takes that as his cue to leave, his job done and proceeds to carry on as if nothing has happened. But now he’s back to being bored, dispassionately roaming the streets like he always had. It was fun while it lasted.

 In his musings, he doesn’t realize that his feet have taken him down a familiar path. The small restaurants and cafes becoming recognizable and the hustle and bustle part of the main city gradually fades, giving way to quieter streets that lead to small neighbourhoods.

 Ah, he realizes, this is the way to your house.

 His thoughts naturally change to that of you, remembering how it had actually been a good week or so since he’d last seen you but judging from the lack of disturbances he feels in your aura, he surmises that you’re doing fine (i.e. not dead or mortally injured). Still, he can’t help the chuckle that escapes under his breath when he slows his pace to let the fact that he had unconsciously been lead back to you, be it by his own will or the nature of the contract sink in.

 Perhaps it was a sign for him to finally go check on you. He hates to admit it, but the bantering you both share are way more entertaining than some of the stuff he’s done for the past few days. It’s always fun because your reactions are like a kaleidoscope of emotions, all morphing from one to another in the span of a minute at the things he does or says. You’re a human who lives diligently like many others, fighting against this harsh and dreary world but managing to find solace in what he thinks is a rather interesting choice of subject:

 An idol K-Pop boy band by the name of BTS.

 Just what does BTS mean to you? He only knows that the face in which he mimics is one that you seek comfort from the most. But where does this fierce adoration and unconditional love come from? He gets the feeling that it’s more than a pretty face and good music (and it seems the same goes for all the members of this group); it doesn’t quite fit with what he has seen with the humans who do the same. It tickles his curiosity to figure out more than what he had gleaned when he first took up this guardian position. He hums at the idea, finding it fascinating.

 A shout sharply cuts him from his thoughts and he immediately feels a spike in your aura from within his chest. His gaze whips to the source and sees that just ahead of him is a figure, tall in stature and clearly male, an arm outstretched over his head with what appears to be a mobile phone held in his hand. He teeters his weight from his right leg to his left in an effort to keep away a much smaller figure that peeks around his gangly frame.

 Jimin doesn’t need to get a clear view of who it might be because the distress and annoyance creates an unmistakable tug that leaves no room for questioning. Your shrieking only affirms this.

 Funny, he thinks as he finds himself making quick strides to close the distance between him and this nuisance of a man, that this scene is playing out in a similar fashion he had just witnessed not even ten minutes ago but it manages to evoke a much stronger reaction from him; pulse rushing, head reeling, and jaw clenching.

 Maybe it was because of the contract, or maybe because of who was involved. He doesn’t have time to figure it out — what any of it means.

 All he knows is that he’s irritated.

 He’s finally within reach, just in time to cut off the unsavoury sentence pouring out of the guy’s mouth by catching the hand that held the phone hostage in a literal bone-crushing grip.

 “I do believe the young lady said no.”

 Quite frankly, the rest of what happened was a blur to Jimin. After trying to be ‘Mr. Nice Demon’ by ignoring the piece of trash behind him, he quickly realized he wasn’t cut out for it. Especially when said piece of trash actually tried to land a hit on him (and doing so even after getting a few of his fingers crushed? Jimin doesn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed).

 He would’ve actually dumped the guy into a literal trash can in the alleyway had it not been for you insisting that he doesn’t but still ended up knocking him out anyways and breaking his nose. Not something Jimin was satisfied with but beggars can’t be choosers he suppose (at least it got him to finally shut up).

 When the situation calmed down and he was able to get a good look at you, Jimin couldn’t help but soften at the slightly disheveled way you had looked. Cheeks flushed, pouting lips and eyes that are a little watery set into a glare his way even though to him, you looked more like an angry kitten than a tiger as you berate him for being gone for so long.

 He inwardly sighs to himself, what is he going to do with you?

 Clearly you had a rough night, that much Jimin can tell. So with the mind to placate your fuming self, he lets you slap his $5,000 jacket (even lets you wear it in the end) and prepares to send you off home (you really need to sleep). Of course things don’t go as planned (or they did, depending on who you ask) because your friend and roommate just so happens to show up at that exact moment. It gave Jimin another entertaining show to experience before the end of the night (probably not something you appreciate but this ain’t about you).

 Either way, with your roommate there, it gave Jimin a great excuse to take care of this unfortunate soul and though you had warned him not to do any killing, it didn’t mean he was barred from doing everything else; the possibility was still endless.

 So here he was, on top of a building that’s currently under construction with an unconscious man dangling upside from one of the tower cranes.

 Life’s good.

 Jimin hovers face-to-face with the man, sipping on the water bottle he’d snatched along the way (it’s thirsty work, even for a demon). The guy still got blood smeared down his lips and chin from his broken nose, which was starting to bruise and swell. But that’s not the problem here — the problem here is that he’s still unconscious.

 The demon fixes that by splashing the rest of his drink onto his face. The cold does the trick to shock his victim awake with a choked splutter.

 “And here I thought I could just leave you for the crows to pick at.” Jimin sighs.

 “WH-What the fuck?!” The man garbles, voice nasally as he tries to blink away the remaining water droplets falling from his face. His hands instinctively try to reach up to wipe it but finds that he can’t because on top of tying his feet to dangle 20 feet in the air, Jimin has also bound his hands because why not. The realization sends him into a rising panic and the man begins to struggle while a steady stream of profanity leaves his mouth. Jimin’s grin only grows wider as he watches it morph into a full-blown freak out when the man finally realizes he’s been put in a rather precarious situation. The amusement is short-lived however when the demon can’t stand his incessant screaming.

 “Silence, human.” He growls, resorting to chucking the bottle right at the man. It immediately catches his attention, wild eyes darting back to Jimin who only narrows his in return.

 “Who’re—You’re…You’re that fucker!”  

 “Oh I wouldn’t be talking to your only saviour like that if I were you.” Jimin tsk, hands casually shoved into his pocket as he glares down at the offender. “Your life’s hanging by a thread — quite literally.” He projects himself upwards until his feet touches the metal of the crane, loafers tapping lightly as he makes his way to stand directly above the man’s prone figure. Jimin chuckles lowly to himself once he catches sight of the expression he has on; clearly the whole situation he’s in is too absurd for his small brain to process at the moment.

 Jimin sees his lips moving quickly, making out words like ‘this isn’t real’, ‘what the fuck’, and ‘I must be dreaming.’  He takes the chance to generously settle those assumptions for him.

 “If it helps, I’ll be happy to drop you to see if it’s true or not.” Jimin bounces on the balls of his heels, the disturbance causes the crane to creak, which makes the man sway. He lets out a terrified shout and Jimin pauses to let the momentum carry on by itself. Crouching down, the demon watches with a bored expression as the dangling male screws his eyes shut, whimpering more words to convince himself that he’s not actually 20 feet from dropping to his death and that some good-looking psycho is the cause of it all.

 Jimin takes out his phone after a while, checking the time to find that it’s late and his patience is growing thin. With a huff, he straightens himself up and taps his foot against the metal to get the blubbering male’s attention.

 “Listen, I don’t have all night to listen to you piss yourself so I’m just going to cut you loose and we can both be done with it yeah?”

 “H-Hey no! Wait! What the fuck’s your problem?!” The man yells, voice pitching as he tries his best to look at his tormentor. “Is it because I messed with your girl?! Look, I didn’t even know she was alright?!”

 Jimin tilts his head; amused by the conclusion he’s been given. The demon hums but other than that, gives no further response. Not like a lowly scum deserves an answer anyways.

 “It doesn’t matter, and quite frankly, it’s none of your business too. Just know that you’re scum and deserve to perish. So….” Kneeling down, Jimin’s hand grasps at the rope keeping said scum from experiencing the bungee jump of his life. “See you in hell, Mike.”

 The rope snaps from the flash of intense heat coming from the demon’s palm and before he has the chance to utter another word, Mike is plummeting towards the ground, his screams fading fast. No sooner afterwards, Jimin teleports himself to the safety of the ground below, squinting upwards to catch the speck that is Mike still making his steep descent.

 Closer…. Closer….

 Now he hears his screaming gradually becoming louder and for a split second, Jimin’s anticipation gets the better of him, giddy to see the result of a human body falling from such a height. That is, until your warning tone echoes from the back of his mind, the nagging begrudgingly makes him scowl with a roll of his eyes before he outstretches a hand above his head and just mere inches from cracking his head open on the gravel ground, Mike’s body comes to a complete stop though he continues wailing.

 Jimin’s scowl deepens as he glares down at the man. He runs an agitated hand through his blue-tinted locks but evidently couldn’t restrain himself from kicking him right in the face…again. It puts a swift end to his endless banshee scream. A heavy sigh escapes his parted lips as he unsympathetically releases the hold he has on Mike’s body, letting him topple over ungraciously with a loud thud.

 “You’re so lucky; I would’ve dumped your body into the nearest river and call it a night.” Jimin mutters angrily, peering down at Mike’s unconscious form disdainfully with hands on either side of his hips. He stares at his stupid face, nose bent in an unnatural way for a few moments longer and with another frustrated inhale through his nose, Jimin impulsively gives one last kick to the man in his gut. They say you shouldn’t kick a man while he’s down but Jimin’s last fuck had long been given away already. Plus, it did him some good; it took the remainder of his steam because he finally straightens himself out, rolls his shoulders to release any tension left before he stoops down to rifle through the man’s pockets.

 He pulls out his wallet, deft hands quickly sifting through various cards until it lands on a university student ID, the institution’s name printed on the plastic with bold letters. Giving the worn leather wallet a shake, a key tumbles out into Jimin’s awaiting hand (along with a bunch of loose change but Mike doesn’t need them). Engraved on the head are a number and letter, no doubt pertaining to the dorm he’s living in. That’s all Jimin needs as he conjures up a portal leading to the location, removes the bindings from Mike’s wrist and feet and all but rolls him through to the floor of his bedroom with the soles of his shoes.

 Jimin tosses the wallet carelessly through too and closes the portal, hands brushing against each other like he had taken out a hefty pile of trash (in a way he did). Feeling a little lighter in mood, Jimin turns to regard his surroundings, stretches and take in the still cool night air. Guess he should probably head on back to your place to check up on you now; it wouldn’t do him any good if he had kept you up worrying over some insignificant scum like Mike.

 So with quick steps, Jimin vanishes in wisps of dark smoke, only to re-materialize in your bedroom. He was honestly half-expecting to be scolded by you the moment he made his appearance but find a much different sight altogether (though still unsurprising). You’re slouched against the wall at the head of your bed, head lopping off to one side in a way that looked too uncomfortable to remain in with the sheets only halfway pulled up over your body. Jimin can’t help the air that escapes through his nose in a quiet giggle, hands suddenly itching to snap a picture of you. He gives in to the temptation, pulling out his mobile with ease.

 After taking a sufficient amount of photos (with various amounts of filters to each), Jimin moves soundlessly towards the edge of the bed to loop an arm around your shoulders, careful to cradle your head against his chest before you used his other free hand to momentarily discard the blanket to make room to scoot you down to the pillows. Once he’s laid you down properly, he fixes the covers again, tucking them under your chin and snuggling the plush cat toy you’re so fond of closer to your side.

 You let out an indecipherable murmur, head shifting to sink further into your bed before letting out a deep exhale, a small smile playing on your lips. Jimin shakes his head though his own smile threatens to overtake his lips. He turns around, satisfied and settles into your desk chair, allowing his eyes to slip shut and the rhythmic sounds of your breathing to lull him into a sense of ease he hasn’t felt in a long time.

[rogerblackwolf]

The Fox and the Huntsman

-Year 1889-

The man awoke suddenly to the blaring of the steamship's horn. He reluctantly gets dressed and heads up to the top deck, his eyes adjusting to the dawn light and the smell of seasalt teased his nose. He stretched because he didn't sleep well, the various vertebrae in his back were popping loud enough to be overheard by a pair of crewmen as they went about their morning duties. He then leaned against the rail to further awaken himself, the spray of the sea helped as did the rays of the sun as it made it's ascent above the horizon.

"Up early again, I see." The captain of the vessel said as he descended the steps from the helm of the steamship.

"Didn't sleep well." The man replied

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Soldier's lives are hardly peaceful." The captain said

The man looked at him surprised before asking

"How did you know?"

"Remember when those rebels had an uprising back in 1828 in Brazil? I was in the Royal Marines back then, I just so happened to be in port during it all." The captain says showing a pin from the time.

"I was in the 66th." The man says

"At Maiwand?!" The captain asked stunned

"Yes."

A few moments of silence went by before the captain spoke once again.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced, Captain Howard Channing, at your humble service."

"Nathan Andrews. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He says as they shake hands.

The two vets proceeded to chat while the ship continues on its course. The call "Land Hoe!" interrupts their conversation. Nathan looks out to see the horizon turn from ocean to a vast expanse of land, in response he goes below deck to his cabin to collect his things, including an letter with an official seal. He sits down on his bunk reading it one more time.

"Sergeant Nathan Andrews

By the order of the Elders, and the will of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria of England, you are to be sent to the colony of Hong Kong, China to hunt a vengeful spirit that has been causing trouble for many of the locals; one village in particular has expressed great concern about this spirit. Your mission is to travel to this village and determine the nature of this spirit. If it is possible, relocate it somewhere away from civilization; if the spirit is hostile you have permission to kill it. May your hunt be a success and your travels safe.

-Elder J."

Nathan then folded the letter and packed it away before checking his weapons. His single shot carbine, his 6 shot webley revolver, and finally his bayonet. As he did this, a second letter fell from his pack, this one from a woman he was engaged to in London. He had hoped this this hunt would be short so he could return quickly.

By the time he got back topside, Nathan realized that the steamhip had managed to dock.

Once the anchor was dropped and the gangplank lowered, Nathan was among the first to disembark along with several of the crew. The captain waved him off and wished him luck as Nathan surveyed his new surroundings. Unquestionably Hong Kong was a beautiful city, the streets were full of people from food vendors to clothing salesmen, and shops. The mountains however captivated and startled him reminding him of a time he wished he could forget.

Thankfully he was brought back to reality by a tapping on his shoulder. Nathan turned and was met with a short portly man dressed in a suit with a dark overcoat and a wide brimmed hat.

"Sergeant Andrews I presume?" He asks whilst nervously extending his hand.

"Yes." Nathan answered a little on edge

"Oh jolly good, I'm Reginald Collingwood. The Order saw fit to elect me as your guide and interpreter." The portly man explained as they shook hands. Mr. Collingwood then went on to explain the situation as he understood it from his own investigation.

"It started some weeks ago, the villagers all told me they witnessed a young woman come into town for supplies. The day after she left several young men became bedridden and had episodes of convulsions; I, myself, was able to cure this with some help from a local monk, curious fellow. Still though the villagers believe until this spirit is found and destroyed they will be in danger."

"Do you have any idea what I should be looking for? Aside for some strange woman?" Nathan asked

"Well I'm certain the villagers would be keen to assist you. We're heading there now." Reginald responded as he brought Nathan to a cart, the driver ready to take them to their destination.

The sun was directly above their heads by the time Nathan and Reginald had arrived at the village. With some assistance from the villagers the two Engishmen found themselves welcomed into the Elder's home. Nathan was fascinated by the many rituals that went into serving a single cup of tea, not to mention he was also served a bowl of rice with some sort of meat coated in a spicy sauce.

"Mr. Collingwood, I'd like to begin my hunt as soon as possible." Nathan insisted after they each had their fill

"Alright alright, I'll translate for you so don't worry." Reginald stated before asking the Elder about the spirit.

The elder and Reginald spoke for some time with Reginald stopping every so often to explain;

"He said that a mysterious woman came from the wilderness looking for rice, meat, and incense. She didn't leave til evening but when night came, the first of several young men began having convulsions and talking in their sleep. They kept saying the same thing.."Shen Li". Curious if you ask me." Reginald stated

"Is there nothing else he can tell us?" Nathan asked gesturing to the Elder.

"He said that the woman went North and the only place that he can think of is an old shrine that no one has visited in decades. Perhaps that would be a good place to start?" Reginald questioned

"Better than nothing." Nathan spoke.

After everything was said and done, the two men thanked the Elder for his help. Nathan decided to leave Reginald with the village for his safety, after all it was just an animal he was hunting. Taking his weapons, Nathan traversed to the northern parts of the countryside eventually arriving at the ruins of an old temple. The stonework was noticeable despite the multitude of vines and overgrowth, on the inside was wooden pillars holding up a stone roof and a shrine had freshly lit candles and incense.

"Someone was here...where are they now?" Nathan asked himself before deciding to lay in wait at the back of the temple. When night came so did the keeper of the shrine. Dressed in a loose white robe with long black hair, Nathan could barely make out a feminine figure in the low light. Only when he made himself known did he see her face, her eyes captured his attention the most. Their silver glow striking him in a way that made him blush embarrassed, even making him lower his weapon.

"Who are you and why are you here?" She asks in English.

"You speak English?" Nathan asked

"Should I not when faced with an English Man?" She replied.

"Hmph, you got me there." Nathan said.

"You have yet to answer my question." The woman responded.

"Right you are, I am Nathan Andrews and I was sent to hunt a spirit that may have come from this temple." He explains

"Do you intend to kill this spirit?" The woman asked as she locked eyes with him as if studying him

"If this spirit is a danger then yes...I won't hesitate." He said after a pause.

"We have not been introduced, I am Shen Li and I am a Hulijing, a fox spirit." She says, revealing her long tail and ears.

"I am Nathan Andrews. A Huntsman from England." Nathan said

"For being polite I will give you an explanation. You have earned that much." Shen Li says.

As Nathan sits with her, Shen Li explains that her magic is random in terms of enchanting men. In many cases men tend to forget her and move on with their lives due to her reclusive nature but sometimes men become annoyingly obsessed and refuse to leave her alone. Shen Li then goes on to say those particular men she tried to ignore but their cries and pleas are not deaf to her, she had to physically remove the enchantment herself. Thankfully there was a Englishman and a monk who cured the men she accidentally enchanted recently.

'Hmm, guess Reginald wasn't entirely useless.' Nathan thought.

"Well...what do you think? Am I a threat?" Shen Li asks him.

Nathan contemplated silently weighing the evidence of both her testimony and Reginald's investigation. As he thought he couldn't stop looking at her as if absentmindedly memorizing the curve of her cheeks, the smoothness of her skin, and her lengthy black hair but above all he found her eyes the most pleasing. He was so lost in them he didn't realize she was staring back at him, as if looking for something hidden.

"I think you're misunderstood, and despite your abilities you are not a threat. If you wish, I will gladly leave you be." Nathan says finally.

"I do enjoy my life here but it does get lonely. I would not be opposed to you returning whenever you wish. It is late, you may remain in the temple til morning. Get some rest, I must hunt for food." She says before turning into her fox form. Nathan would be surprised but he was already tired to begin with, he watched Shen as her silver fur glistened in the moonlight and with a pounce out the entranceway she was gone.

Once Nathan had lied down he began to slowly dose off but this night he didn't have any nightmares, for the first time in many months he was able to have a peaceful sleep. Nathan stirred from his slumber by the rays of morning, as he went about having some rations for breakfast he saw no sign of Shen. He decided to head back to the village since his work had been done, the only thing left to do was to deliver his report. As he traversed the path Nathan felt at ease, again a first in a long time. When he arrived back at the village he was welcomed by the people and Reginald.

"Mr. Andrews! Great to see you again old chap. Did you find the spirit?" He asked

"I did, and I have a report to write and send." Nathan responds

"Of course, at once." Reginald said as he showed Nathan to a office where he could write. It took maybe an hour before Nathan emerged once again and gave the letters to Reginald.

"You know what you have to do. Ensure the Order gets the report first. The second one I will not fault should it arrive late." Nathan said

"Yes of course, and where will you be going?" Reginald asked as the wagon was brought to the residence the two men were staying at.

"To have a chat with someone I met." Nathan said before he gave Reginald a handshake and a pat on his shoulder before walking back off into the woods.

Reginald also saw a silver furred fox sitting on a rock at the edge of the woods, even he could tell there was something not normal about it. When Nathan got close to the fox it let him pet it's head gently before both disappeared into the forest.

"Hmm, Curious." Reginald said to himself as the wagon leisurely made it's way to Hong Kong's port.

[littlebitoffanfic]

Happier

Orc x reader Request: an orc x reader (cause I love your orc stuff). I don’t know what tho, but a nice orc who just wants the reader to be happy but shes a messenger or something so only comes to see him now and again. Maybe the readers attacked by another orc and hes scared it might make her never want to see him again. You sat in the small carriage, watching the area around you, your documents on your lap. You were traveling from the council set up in the mainly human dominated city of Revelanty to the orc dominated town of Arganintia. It was about a days travel by horse drawn carriages so in comparison to the rest of the councils connections, it was relatively close. You worked for the council, whos main aim was to keep peace between towns and races. This extended past just Orcs and Humans. There was Dwarfs, Goblins, Elves, Terants and more. For the most part, most species kept to themselves, often having colonies, towns or tribes that they would stay in, excluding Goblins who liked to rotate their ground and moved to different parts with each season depending on their needs. Humans and Orcs had a slightly different relationship. For the most part, there was peace however, both sides had groups that still harboured resentment over a war that finished just over 200 years ago. For this reason, it was very important to the council to maintain a healthy relationship with the leader of Arganintia. Their leader was a fair and wise one whos name was Arigni. You knew they referred to him as a king and you understood why. You met with him and his own council at least twice a week, discussing many things such as trade deals, land, any issues with residents in either town, it just depends on what the needs are. Arigni had a small council of 4 other Orcs (known as the Kings Trust), who you were proud to say you shared a friendship with. Elekin was an older Orc, with the darkest green skin you had ever seen on a Orc. It was so dark, he could easily be lost in the dark. But he was a nice enough Orc, who had seen one to many battles in his life and had the scars to show it. This didn’t stop him from telling you of his adventures, something you found interesting. Azekin took the longest to warm up to you at first. He was a warrior in every sense of the word and wasted no time in showing someone this. Originally, he had been on the kings guard and raised through the ranks to the kings personal guard as well as a Kings trust. He was the tallest in the Trust by a good foot. All Orcs towered over you, with most standing at 9 foot tall. But combining that with his large, muscly body made him very intimidating. One of his tusks was chipped off the top and he had a number of facial piercings as well as s large, dark beard. You had been fearful of him for the longest time, until one time, he protected you from a angry and rather drunk Orc who resented humans. From then on, he was as much your protector as he was the kings. Gaakt was a close friend of the king, and had earned his way onto the Trust through dedication to the king. He was known for having a silver tongue, something you and him shared. He also seemed to be the one who found out things. If there was so much as a small fight, he knew. He had close connections in the town which meant 9 out of 10 times, it was easy to stop something. Krothu was the brains of the Trust. He was by far the most intelligent Orc you had ever met. He had a deep love for the history of most Humans and Orcs as well as for books. Of everyone, you got on with him the best and most. He was very different to most Orcs you knew, more a gentle giant. Other Orcs showed a lot of aggression and anger. It wasn’t a bad thing, it was just the culture. They would resolve things with fists while Krothu used words. He was big, not as tall as Azekin, but just as muscular. Like most Orcs, he had tattoos, the majority of which was up his right arm and were marking you knew were important to the culture. He had a number of piercings in his ear like many but he kept his facial hair to a minimum. The hair on his head was long, falling in dreadlocks to his shoulders, unlike both Gaakt and Azekin who had rather short but spiked hair. He wore a neckless that was a symbol of the Trust, made up of bones and normally wore shirts unlike the working male orcs in the town who would go topless, much to the pleasure of the Orcess’s. The two of you got along so well, you would now stay with him when you visited, rather than in the kings guest rooms. You were their connection to the main Council and they had a lot of trust in you as you had shown them that you work to help them and make sure they are happy just as much as you did the council. Once, there had been a dispute of an Orc living in Revelanty who had been ambushed by a group of men. For obvious reason, the Orc community had been in uproar about one of their own being injured and demanded blood. The Council had refused to hand the men over to the Orcs which had nearly caused another war, one which was only stopped when you stepped in. You addressed the council while Arigini and the Trust were there. You asked the council what they would expect as a reasonable punishment if you had been attacked while on duty in Arganintia. Of course, the council would have wanted a harsher punishment because you worked for them, but it was through your negotiations (mainly on Arignis side) that the men would serve a life sentence held within the prisons of Verni, known for its strict prisoner ways. From that moment on, you were the Orc Kings courtier in all aspects of relations between the two city’s. Today, you were delivering contracts for the trade of animal stock and the King had asked to speak to you about possible issues regarding a Goblin camp near by. however, it was late and it had been a horrible day. The rain had not stopped since the morning and had added 4 to 5 hours to the journey. It was always agreed that if you arrived after sunset, you could go straight to Krothu’s and rest, the business can always wait till morning. you felt the carriage pull to a steady halt and looked out the window, seeing you were now at his home. He lived a little outside the town, preferring the country to the constant noise of the town. His home was similar to a small cottage and was just a lovely. Grabbing your bags you hopped out the door, seeing the two Orcs, Renti and Krih (brothers) who had driven the carriage about to climb out from their small compartment that covered them from rain. They were always the ones to come and escort you to and from the town, so you knew them well. In fact, you often met with their wife’s for lunch on your free days and enjoyed the company of their family’s. “Do not worry. Go home and dry off. I apologies for the dreadful weather you had to endure for me.” You smiled, reaching into your pocket and pulling out 3 coins each to give to them. They were already paid by the king but you wanted to compensate. Both smile at the gift. “Thanks, always ah pleasure.” Krih smiled, nodding his head before setting off in the carriage. you darted to the door, the documents held close to your chest in one hand and your bag hooked on your elbow. Knocking on the door, you didn’t have to wait long before it was flung open. “[y/n], I feared the storm might have taken you.” A deep but comforting voice spoke, filled with fear as you were pulled inside. “Im sorry. The horses got a fright from the lightening earlier, so we had to stop.” You told him, smiling at how much he worried for you. He returned your smile and you reached up, wrapping your arms around him to greet him with a hug. He was the only Orc you knew who you would hug straight away. With the Trust and king, you would always wait to see if they initiated it first. His tusks rubbed against your shoulder as he returned the greeting, making you smile. At first, you found the tusks very intimidating and rather frightening, but as you got used to the orcs and became friends with many, you found they were a massive part of the culture. Some of the younger Orcs pierced their tusks, but you didn’t really like the idea. As far as you’re understand was of the tusks, they were similar to teeth but didn’t have the same sort of sensitivity, more a mixture of bone and tooth. But you could never have a tooth pierced. pulling back, your bag was taken from your arm and Krathu walked through his home, pacing it in the spare bedroom. His door opened straight into his living area, which was filled with books, maps, documents, etc. He had a bookcase on every wall and in the centre of the room was a couple of comfy chairs, a large sofa and a table. In the fireplace was a fire while was very inviting so you walked over to him, kneeling down in front of the flame to warm up. Your long dress was damp, but not fully wet. “Do you have anywhere I can put these documents?” You asked as he came back. He nodded and was quick to take them and took them through to a room you know to be his study. You watched him leave, biting down on your lower lip. Over the years, you had grown extremely fond of him, more than you cared to tell anyone. It wasn’t unheard-of for humans and orcs to be together in a romantic fashion, but not two so high in the ranks as yourself. Signing to yourself, you started to take off your coat. “Is everything okay?” Krathu asked, his voice making you jump since you didn’t realise he had came back. You pulled your coat back on, but you didn’t know why. You were staying the night. “Of course.” You smiled, getting to your feet as he approached you. He walked around you, his large fingers reaching up and hooking under the collar of your coat, pulling it up and off your shoulder. You allowed the clothing to fall, smiling at his gentle nature as he took the coat and hung it up to dry. For the next hour, you settled in. You went and changed your dress and when you returned, there was a lovely smelling coming from the kitchen. Curiously, you followed your nose to see a hot bowl of stew on the kitchen table, a spoon at the side and Krath setting a glass of water down on the table. He looked up at you and you jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your dinner. I shall be in my room.” You nodded and started to back to your room when a loud laugh filled your ears and an arm was wrapped around your waist, lifting you up and carrying you back through to the kitchen. “Its your dinner, not mine.” Kruth laughed as he sat you down in the chair. You couldn’t help but smile as you ate the stew, savouring every mouthful. He was good to you, very good in fact. Better than any man had ever been. And as you ate, you couldn’t help but glance over to him, wondering if his kindness towards you was purly political. Or if he cared for you as deeply as you did for him. ------------------time skip -------------------- It had been another long day. You and Krath had left just after sunrise and been in meeting after meeting. The rest of the council had been happy you had made it safely and securely to the kingdom but also feared for your return to your home. The storm had only gotten worse, so you decided to go and see Krih and his wife, Freha, to see if he’d be okay in delaying your return. Krath had had to finish some work up with the king so stayed and agreed to meet you at his house again later for supper. it was just after dark when you turned the corner, seeing Krih and Frehas home at the end of the street. But before you could smile and head there, large hands grabbed your arms and you were pulled into a back alley. “Disgusting human.” A voice snarled in your ear as you struggled against the darkess holding you. “Freha!” You cried out just as a large hand clamped over your mouth. He manged to hold both your hands behind your back as the free one covered your mouth. “Shut up!” It snarled and you managed to turn your head to a large orc towering over you, his eyes bringing with a fresh hatred for you. You struggled against him as you tried to scream out into the night, hoping that someone might hear you. “Filthy human. In my town.” He grunted, his voice low and rough as he pulled you further into the alley way. His hand let go of your arms just as the hand which covered your mouth darted to your neck and wrapped around it easily, squeezing hard. Your air was cut off and you used your hands to try and pry at his hand. Trying to get him to release you. but as he did this, he lifted you off the ground easily. Your legs were kicking helplessly below you. You saw something come around the side of your head and it glinted in the moon light. A knife. You screamed into his hand, panic finally setting in as you started to move as far away from the knife as possible. You shook your head, your eyes welling with tears as you gasped and gagged for air but nothing came. The knife moved closer to your chest, closer to where your heart was. He moved the knife so the point was pointing at you, then he raised it to the skin of your cheek and started to dig it in. Not by much. Not enough to pierce right through your cheek but enough to draw blood. “Human skins so easy to pierce.” He chuckled evilly in your ear. As you tried to pull the knife away, you slashed the palm of your right hand open but he merely cackled. He moved the knife down about 2 inches before pulling it away, the fresh cut on your cheek pulsing with pain as your tears hit it. He then moved the blade over the skin over your collar bone, which was only just visible from your dress. To left another wound, this time 4 or 5 inches. You closed your eyes for a moment until you felt the knife slash at your left side just below your ribs, cutting your dress and the skin underneath. Once again, not enough to kill or even be a threat, but enough to hurt and make you want to cry out in more pain. Then he brought the knife back to your heart. this was it. He was going to kill you. you scrambled even harder but your movements were becoming limp. The blood from your palm now covered your jaw and his hand as you tried to pry it away and failed. “[y/n]!” A voice from the end of the alley way and you looked up to see Freha standing with her hands covering her mouth. Then there was a loud “Thwack” from behind you and you were dropped to the ground. You gasped for air, rolling onto your back as sobs left your throat from the pain you were in. Your whole body felt like it was numb and you couldn’t do anything but scream as you tried to process what was happeniend. Your side and hand were on fire and you thought you might pass out from everything. “Shhh honey, its okay. You’re safe now.” You heard Freha hush as she appeared above you, falling to her knees and pulling your head onto her lap. Her eyes were filled with tears. You looked to where your attacker had been to see him now lying on the ground, unconscious, Krih behind him with a large club. You managed to sit yourself up a little, scrambling closer to Freha who wrapped her arms around you. “Hey! You okay down there?” “Whats all this noise?” “Whats going on?” A new voice called from the end of the alley at both sides. “Go get Kruth and the rest of the council. [y/n]’s been attacked!” Krih called out, his voice shaking as he dropped the bat to run over to you. “We gotta get her to a medic.” He mumbled, his eyes falling on your cuts and your throat which must have had bruising on it. “No, not yet. The council will need to see her first. And shes been through enough right now. She needs orcs she can trust right now. I’ll take her back to ours. Help me?” Freha knew exactly what you needed and knew you were too weak to stand by yourself. Krih nodded and moved to pick you up like a bride. You managed to catch a look at your body as he did so. You had blood splattered across your light blue dress. A number looked like hand prints from your slashed hand and there was a substantial pool of blood around the cut at the bottom of your ribs. You were starting to feel tiered and were extremely weak so your head just lolled back as you were lifted bridal style. You were carried out the alley and you saw there was a number of orcs had come out their houses and now were watching you, their eyes wide and some even covering their mouth. “Who could have done this to her?” Some male orc mumbled. “Poor wee thing.” A older female orc shook her head and you saw her walk to Freha who followed her husband. The old orc asked if she needed any help and this prompted a lot of the orcs to ask the same thing, but Freha shook her head, explaining what she had said to Krih a second ago. You looked behind you and Krih and saw two orcs hauling your unconscious attacker from the alley way and throwing him ungracefully into the road. “Tie his hands behind his back. Make sure he doesn’t get away!” Krih called over his shoulder as he came to his house. Freha darted in front of you both to open the door to their house. Once inside, he lay you on the table. You tried to sit up but Freha put her hands on your shoulders and gently pushed you back down. “You gotta rest, sweetie. We’ll take care of you. I promise.” She took your hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.” You said in a weak voice as Krih walked back out the house, most likely to deal with your attacker. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to try and calm down while Freha ran up stairs and grabbed a pillow and cover. You were covered with the thin blanket and she lifted your hair to slip the pillow under your neck. Then she got to work with warm water and cleaned your cuts which stung but you managed to supress your cries. “Im only gonna clean you up just now. Im sorry, honey. But the councils coming. And they’ll have to see how bad it was.” She spoke with an air of guilt but you just shook your head a little and smiled despite the pain. “Thank you. you saved me.” You opened your eyes to look at her. “Of course! You’re like my family.” She sat down at a chair and took your good hand in both of hers, leaning her head against your hand. “You’re my sister.” You mumbled, smiling and squeezing her hand. She really was. You and her had grown very very close over the last few years. “And you are mine.” She smiled softly. For a while, the two of you spoke, mainly so she could make sure you were still awake. There was a crowd gathered outside the house and it sounded like it was getting aggressive. For a while, you thought (dreaded) it was anger at you. but then Krih came in and said the street was angry they weren’t allowed to attack your attacker. it must have only been 10 minutes later when you heard the crowd become quiet and the kings voice sounded frantic. “Where is she?” Someone must have told him where you were because just as Freha stood up the door was swung open. Arigni, Elekin, Azekin, Gaakt and Krath stormed in but once inside, they froze. Their eyes fell on your body, which was still weak and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sit up properly. If you weren’t feeling as weak, you might have felt embarrassed. You had always tried your best to be strong in front of them, show them you were a force to be reckoned with and that you could be relied on. but now, all you could do was close your eyes and turn your head from then, tears starting to burn again. “I’ll kill that orc!” Azekin growled, his voice at a level of anger and rage you had never heard before. “No! He will face justice, that much is certain. But right now, we have to tend to her.” Arigni voice was strong and held the weight to stop one of his greatest warriors from running out the door with an axe. “How bad is it?” “Pretty bad, your highness. We heard her shout and ran out. He’d pulled her down an alley way and was holding her up by her neck like a doll. He’d cut her several times at her side, hand face and he had the knife ready to pierce her heart when I saw them. God, he was strangling her! He knew either way she’d be dead. Didn’t think I’ll ever forget how her body dropped to the floor. Lifeless. Thought she were dead!” Freha breaks down and starts to sob. Your eyes open wide. You had never seen her cry. Like many Orcess, she was strong and tough, but now she was weeping by your side. you reached out and took her hand again which she must have dropped when they came in. squeezing her hand, you smiled at her. “Im not.” You managed to say, your voice horse from being strangled. “Can you sit up, little one?” Elekin appeared beside you, making you jump a little. You didn’t answer but made the effort to try. Letting go of Freha hand, you tried to push yourself up, but there was a sharp pain from the gasp on your stomach, which made you cry out in pain and squeeze your eyes shut. Two set of hands support your back, Freha and Elekin. Slowly, they lowered you back down. “I’ll take her back to mine. She needs to rest.” Kruthus voice was shaking and sounded extremely strained, making you look over at him. “allow me a few minutes to dress the wounds first.” Freha didn’t ask, she told them. During this time, she showed the full extent of your injuries to the king and his council. You moved between having your eyes open and closing them over when pain or embarrassment was too much. But you noticed one thing. Kruthus eyes kept trailing back to your neck. You knew there would be bruising there, and in the shape of a hand. Once you were wrapped up, you started to sit up but were then scooped into large, muscular arms. “Im sure I can walk.” You tried to protest, but you were tiered and weak, so it came out as more of a whimper. “Im sure you can. But I can not allow it.” Kruthu spoke with a gentle kindness in his voice that made you smile and lay you head on his shoulder. He had always smelled to you like home. You could never quite put you finger on what it was, but you didn’t mind. He carried you outside and into a carriage that was directly outside the door. You were too weak to say goodbye but felt Freha quickly take your hand and squeeze it reassuringly. It seemed the council were going to stay and interrogate the orc who had attacked you, so it was only you and Kruthu in the carriage. He never put you down, instead having you on his lap. “Are we going home?” you asked, your eyes falling shut as you tried to fight the sleepy feeling, but you could tell it was winning. “No, I can arrange for you to travel home tomorrow but-“ He started but you let out a small giggle. “No, no, no. I mean your home.” You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head slightly as you looked up at him. A soft smile dawned his handsome features. “Yes, we’re going home.” He smiles down at you. For the brief moment before you nodded off, you weren’t in pain anymore. You couldn’t be, not when he smiled at you like that. ---------------------time skip------------------------ You woke and it was still dark. The door to your bedroom was open and the only light was from the soft fire in the living room. Sitting up, you noticed your side didn’t hurt nearly as much as you had remembered it. You were also in a nightgown and with a new quilt over your bed. It was one you recognised as Frehas one she used. It was a tradition in their house that when one of the children were ill or sick, they go this blanket and it helped them get better. But something drew you out of the bed and towards the door. In the living room was Kruthu. He stood over his dining table which was covered in books. All lying open and overlapping each other. A disgruntled sign left his lips as he leaned over them, searching multiple books for an answered he seemed not to be able to find. “Kruthu?” You called out his name softly, not wanting to startle him but you didn’t have the desired effect. Instead he jumped, a book he had been holding seeming to jump from his grip and land on the floor with a bang. “You’re awake.” He looked at you like you were a ghost before moving quickly across the room to you. “You shouldn’t be up. You need to rest.” but as he drew closer, he stopped himself before he was within a metres distance from you. You repeated his name, stepping closer to him, unsure why he had stopped. When you had fallen ill a few years ago, he had ushered you back to bed with a hand gently on your back. Even when he brought you here, in was in the embrace of his arms. Something you sorely needed right now but couldn’t ask for. Your cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire and you were unable to hold his gaze. But your reaction seemed to be one he fear. Kruthu backed away from you. “I am deeply sorry.” He said, his voice deep and sounding pained. But your gaze snapped up to him. Looking up, you saw he hung his head, his shoulders hunching over themselves. “Why?” you asked, completely confused by his actions. “I could never hurt you. I just want you to know that.” He speaks to the floor before retreating to his room quickly and closing the door over. “I know.” You said to the empty room, your brows knitted together with confusion. Deciding to investigate, you cross over to the table. All the books that were overflowing the table were books of law. Both human and Orc law. Btu they were all opened ot assault, battery and grievous body harm and the minimum sentencing for these. The worse sentence seemed to be 5 years within a prison. You cheeks flared up with rage. Surly the orc who had attacked you would get longer than that?! Looking at the floor, you picked up the book. Kruthu had marked the page he had been on by folding the corner of it down, so you found it quite quickly. The page read that if a member of the royal council or a significant other was assaulted or feared for their life, then the sentencing could be increased to whatever the party deemed necessary. Technically, you weren’t part of the council so you were confused when you re read the page. Until your eyes fell on one part in particular. Significant other. A partner, wife, husband, lover or engaged to. It didn’t matter. It would give the king the fullest power to punish your attacker and get you justice. But there was a flaw in that idea. Looking down, you noticed a letter under a book. The letter was from Freha. You skimmed over the letter before a passage caught your eye. “she adores you. It could not be a lie if you speak to her and tell her the truth. Shes stronger than you think. You could simply say it was kept a secret because of the positions you both hold in the court. I would testify as a witness and say she had told me in confidence. I can assure you that her feeling towards our race and towards you will not change. Her confidence might be knocked, but she is far too kind for her own good sometimes. Your worries are misplaced. You have said yourself that your love for her has grown. The council can see that, as can the people. No one would think twice if it came out that you and she were courting.” You blinked quickly. There was more to the letter but you could barely read it. You needed to speak to Kruthu. Placing the letter down, you walked over to his bedroom and knocked on the door before walking in. It was more of a warning than a request. This took him by surprise because he had been sitting on his bed, with his head in his hands but once you entered, he sprung up. “I know you would never hurt me.” You smiled, standing directly in front of him as you reach out to cup his cheek. You ran your thumb under his eye which showed he was very tired. his eyes fluttered close at your touch, seemingly reviling in the soft moment. he rose his own hand to cover your hand before moving it to kiss your palm and then back to his cheek. “would you have thought of marrying me? Before all this?” You ask, drawing his eyes open to look up at you. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t.” He breathed, as if scared of how you might respond. “And you’d never lie to me.” You smiled, saying it more as a statement than a question. “Never.” Kruthu shook his head a single time, looking up at you. “Good.” You smile, as you slide down so you were perched on his right knee. He instantly wrapped his free arm around your waist to keep your steady. “I’d never lie to you.” “I know.” Kruthu smiled with a sense of pride as he looked at you. “So, the letter? Will you explain it?” you ask, cocking your head to the side as you pull your hand away for his cheek but quickly take his hand that had been covering your and holding it on your lap. “I don’t think an orc as been so hated by its own kind in a while. But theres only so much we can do legally. Since you’re human.” He looks away, seeming embarrassed to have to point this out. “And if I were courting you?” You ask, ducking your head to guide his eyes back to your own. “The full powers of the sentencing could be enforced.” He tells you. “And it would certainly improve relations between orcs and humans. Since word of what happened to me and what the council did would earn great respect from them.” You nod a little. “Theres only one problem.” Kruthu says, making you frown a little. “What?” you ask. “I need to know you would want this, regardless of whats happened. I cannot bare to force you to stay with me. I adore you, [y/n], and I would certainly do everything in my power to be a good husband for you. but I need to know you would want this.” He spoke with a sort of desperate desire as he held you a little tighter than he had before. his eyes begged you for an answer. “I’ll always want you.” You whisper to him, finally voicing a secret you had kept to yourself for a long time. Kruthus breath hitched as he stared at you in awe before leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, holding him close and you kissed him back with equal passion and desire. After that day, it was told that Kruthu had been courting you for a while. May vouched for your closeness and how they believed you. You moved to be with Kruthu, as a permanent member of the kings council, in charge of human relations and business deals. And you found a loving and doting husband, who adored you to the moon and back. That orc had tried to take your life, but he had actually given you everything you ever wanted. And you had never been happier.

[insanityclause]

With every play, Zawe Ashton searches for what she calls “the heart line.” “It’s the line you can return to at any point in the process and either find something new or find the same, or it grounds you or releases you.”

Yet, with Harold Pinter’s Betrayal—about the intertwining, well, betrayals between a gallery owner, her publisher husband, and his literary agent best friend (also her lover)—“this is one of the first times when I haven’t gone in search of that.”

She hasn’t needed it.

Emma emerged from Ashton, like she had been hibernating in the actor’s bones, when she and now co-star Tom Hiddleston performed Betrayal’s gut-punch Torcello scene in October 2018 as part of a gala benefit for director Jamie Lloyd’s theatre company tied to Pinter at the Pinter. “Suddenly, everyone was saying, ‘Are you rehearsing for Betrayal?’ And we were like, ‘No, we’ve had 15 minutes,’” she recalls. “Something just happened energetically, chemically.”

Those 15 minutes inspired the production that became a smash in London before transferring to Broadway’s Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, where it now plays through December 8. Though she’s rehearsed and performed the play over 100 times, Ashton’s performance crackles with freshness as she puts every previous performance out of her mind and approaches the language anew each night.

Because Ashton’s priority is not to become her version of Emma, it’s to become Pinter’s. As a writer-actor like Pinter, she feels a duty to commune with “Harold,” as she tellingly calls him. To create the character based on his imagination not her own. “You can’t bend [these roles] to fit your needs,” she says. “You have to be the most present, the most open, the most direct, the most visceral you can be to really do Harold’s work justice.”

Which is why it’s become crucial to her process that she and her two co-stars remain onstage from start to finish—lingering as specters during scenes between the other two. It’s not just about the audience considering their presence, the play’s balance is an energetically precarious one that demands the actors’ uninterrupted focus. Betrayal is an exercise in nonstop listening. “The words are so visceral, to try to disengage is almost impossible,” she says. “What’s wonderful is when you’re standing at the back or sitting at the side or living through the scene you’re not in, you get a new perspective on the situation.”

And that applies to Ashton’s own way of moving through the world. An author, playwright, actor, and who-knows-future-what, Ashton is a woman driven by self-discovery. And playing Emma has changed Ashton’s perspective on her own life.

“One of the best secrets we have among ours is we know how to play it from 28 to 38,” she explains. “There’s this pressure when you’re supposed to be aging backwards, but you sort of play old and then play young. One of the most beautiful things it taught me about my own life: there really is very little difference between me age 28 and me age 38. There are only your experiences. I can tell myself a story about how different I was then—how differently I did things, how much more sensible or free or chaotic or whatever the story—but really there’s not that much difference.”

As a result, Ashton doesn’t so much play Emma as exist as her. She is indescribably full and real (as are Hiddleston’s Robert and Charlie Cox’s Jerry).

She is sensual and vulnerable. Emma pulses with power, curiosity, and a desire to engage with life. “I think she wants to just really live fully as a human,” says Ashton. “Harold has written a woman that has taken her space in male-dominated environments and she’s engaging more with intimating, she’s engaging more with sex, she’s engaging more with art, she’s engaging more with modernity than the two men in the play.”

Suddenly, it makes sense why Ashton spends the entire play barefoot. Emma wants to experience every sensation; she wants the fewest barriers between her and her pleasure in the world.

Ashton adds, “She’s so comfortable in her own moment.”

And Ashton is experiencing her own Emma-like moment. While making her Broadway debut in Betrayal, Ashton is also in rehearsal for the play she wrote for all the women who thought they were Mad, beginning performances October 14 at Off-Broadway’s Soho Rep.

Though the papers champion the “overnight success” of the 34-year-old (who also starred alongside Jake Gyllenhaal in Velvet Buzzsaw and released her book Character Breakdown earlier this year), don’t be fooled. Ashton’s been acting since she was six and wrote this play 11 years ago while part of the Royal Court Writers’ Group.

Her play examines a different kind of betrayal—specifically of healthcare systems that have abandoned the women they are supposed to care for, particularly women of color, because of gender and cultural biases. “It's about trans-generational trauma, it's about women of color and mortality around child birth, it's about mental health, it's about the fallout of colonialism,” Ashton explains.

Though these may be hot button issues now, Ashton struggled for a decade to find a place to produce the work.

“I’ve been made to feel like I’ve been peddling a dangerous document. And maybe I am. Or maybe it’s just not a very good play,” she says without hubris.

If her meticulous thought and capacity to relate are any indication, it’s a good play, and history tells us that “dangerous” theatre is often the most necessary. Ashton seems poised to be the one to deliver it.

She’s wildly intelligent without elitism; she’s inviting and calm, yet ebullient. She’s a provocateur and a deep thinker.

Reclining on the couch in the Playbill studio, cradling a pillow in her lap, Ashton is contemplative above all else.

Thinking back to the start of our conversation, Ashton rewinds: “I wonder if one of the heart lines is in Scene 9, which is the end of the play. Jerry says to her, ‘I watched you walk by in white,’ talking about her wedding day to Robert and him being the Best Man, and she says, ‘I wasn’t in white.’ It’s very telling about the woman that she is. To say it and be like, ‘Don’t put me in a box.’” No wonder Ashton felt right at home in Emma’s bare feet.